


You & I

by WarriorSteph



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7375816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorSteph/pseuds/WarriorSteph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an epic duel between childhood rivals, Costia and Clarke find themselves stuck in a tug of war for the ultimate prize, Lexa Woods. Contains romance, comedy and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Have you ever met that one person who has the ability to make your skin crawl? Seriously, just their mere presence causes your blood to boil like pot of water on a hot, burning stove? The incredulous thought of having to interact with them creates such a stir of emotions, you can feel the tall tale signs of rage induced panic twisting tightly around your lungs?

Unfortunately, Clarke has. She has had the insurmountable fortune of dealing with such feelings towards a certain person in particular. As a result, it only takes two words, two words, for her vision to turn crimson.

Costia. Greene. 

A tale as old as time. You can question, interrogate, anyone around about this legendary rivalry. Yet, no one is sure of the exact origins of this love/hate, well mostly hate, relationship. If you were to question Clarke, Costia was a threat, an enemy, and her strongest competitor.

Tall. Lanky. Flawless skin. She could pretty much wear a paper bag or potato sack to class and still look drop, dead gorgeous. Costia Green, with her perfectly straight, pearly whites, strong jawline and piercing green eyes was a model of perfection. As if sculpted by Aphrodite, people have compared to her to a damn mermaid or a goddess.

But, it’s not her looks that irk Clarke. Oh no, that was definitely not it. Clarke could appreciate beauty as well as give credit when it’s due. She could not deny the immense attractiveness of her arch enemy. It’s not like Clarke was a blonde headed Medusa causing people to turn to stone from the sheer ugliness engulfing her face. On the contrary, with her busty, curvy physique, crystal clear blue orbs, golden locks, and charming smile, she was stunning as well. Clarke, a leader, had no obstacles in attracting the opposite or same sex.

So, you ask yourself, what could it possibly be? 

Well, like psychiatrists, you could probably examine past experiences to pin point the exact moment acquaintance turned to foe. However, you would probably be waiting eighty-four years or so. You see, Clarke’s hatred is rooted deep within the core of her being. Obstacles and challenges she faced stemmed from one person and one person only. It seemed every time Clarke would shine, a huge, black, ominous rain cloud named Costia sauntered by. Leaving a devastated Clarke to pick up the pieces of destruction that Hurricane Green left behind. No matter how driven, how determined, or how valiantly she fought, Clarke always claimed the title of second best. 

For instance,....

In third grade, Clarke received an award for student of the month. Absolutely spilling with joy, Clarke showed off this accomplishment to everyone she knows. Yet, her proud moment turned sour when Costia waddled over in her pink frilly tutu and bouncing brown curls with a sly smirk gracing her lips. Arms filled with ribbons accompanied by several certificates, Costia thrusted these treasures forward. It seemed not only did she win first place in her soccer tournament, she received student of the month in Mathematics, English, and History as well. Dropping the cherry on top, she also received awards for class participation and perfect attendance. Clarke’s mood deflated quickly as her best friends began to touch Costia’s ribbons in awe. With her chubby cheeks and pigtails, she walked away with her shoulders hunched forward and head down, barely clutching the award.

Unfortunately, it would only escalate from there.

When Clarke won the prestigious honor of being accepted into an art competition, tirelessly, she worked day and night on her masterpiece. That night, after munching on a few chocolate chip cookies, Clarke discovered a red ribbon for second place pressed against her canvas. With a toothy grin, innocent blue eyes gazed upon the painting of a dolphin leaping out the sea. Yet, despite hating art, Costia’s painting of a pink flower appeared in the art show as well. Unfortunately, it won the hearts of the judges for her to claim first. During a photo with the circle of winners, an eye-twitching Clarke fantasied about wrapping her pudgy hands around that slim neck and squeezing until Costia, like a fish out of water, gasped for air. Art was Clarke’s specialty. Unlike her foe, Clarke wasn’t a nimble little flamingo who succeeded in every damn sport. By the end of the night, she found herself being dragged from the gallery. After Costia claimed to be an art connoisseur, she studied the graceful dolphin closely. With a high pitched fake tone and sly smirk, she had the audacity to say, “I guess we know who is a real artist, better luck next time Clarke.” Whispering loud enough for Clarke to hear, she remarked, “it’s not that good compared to mine.” As she strutted away with her giggling friends, Raven and Octavia leapt up to grab a scowling Clarke from lunging for a pair of scissors. 

As the years passed, this competition shifted from art to school.

Receiving numerous amounts of ninety-sixes for most of her marks, Clarke rarely had difficulty in classes. However, relentless studying did not change the fact Costia was always lurking around with a bright red ninety-eight. As if it was a mission, she would flip her hair with a smug grin, “better luck next time Clarke,” or “at least you tried.” By the end of freshmen year, Clarke was seriously contemplating using a mechanical pencil as a shiv. Nonetheless, one semester Clarke found herself struggling. There came the day someone made a very inconsiderate and stupid comment. Since Abby, Clarke’s mom, was still good friends with Costia’s mother, she suggested Clarke ask Costia to tutor her. After being backhanded by that remark as if it was a salty fish, Clarke bitterly responded, “I rather be hung by my toenails.” And with that, she did not speak to her mom for almost a week. 

And then came the day Clarke bought Old Bertha.

After saving enough of earnings from the Trikru Ice Cream and Things Parlor, Clarke happily purchased her first car, Old Bertha. Despite coming from a wealthy family of surgeons and engineers, Clarke’s parents agreed to pay half. One character building lecture later, she settled on a use- I’m sorry, previously owned, four-year-old gray sedan. Sure the bumper was black instead of gray, the interior may have been peeling off and there was a rather suspicious red stain in trunk, but Clarke was ecstatic. Yet, the first day she drove her friends to class, Costia, also having a wealthy background, pulled up in a brand new, sleek, black Camaro. Thus, causing all of her peers, Clarke’s friends included, to ogle and praise Costia for her sweet ride. And Costia just stood there with a smug smirk, leaning causally against the hood as the wind blew against her brown wavy locks effortlessly. “It was a gift for getting perfect grades,” she giggled. Clarke barely managed to get inside of the school before exploding in a fit of rage by repeatedly kicking a trashcan. Which, for the record, she ended up in detention for her cursing as well as the intent of damaging school property. Apparently, there was a zero tolerance for bullying and violence, including inanimate objects. 

Therefore, as one could see, the history between these two has been less than ideal. It always seemed there was Costia perched upon the hill on her throne. Every so often, she would swiftly kick rather large stones down the steep depression. A struggling Clarke would make it halfway up the rocky path before the quake of a tumbling rock would cease her efforts. Eyes wide, arms flailing comically with her mouth agape and wild hair, she frantically sprinted back down. Sometimes, Clarke would not be so lucky in her dodging. Currently, no longer freshmen, both girls have established a “place” in the chain of high school royalty. 

Costia, being head cheerleader bestowed with unbelievably attractive features, a large trust fund, and immense popularity, resided on top. In her opinion, girls either want to be her or hate her. Obviously, she only surrounds herself with jocks and fellow cheerleaders. It is rare for her to step down from her throne, more like a self-made pedestal, to grace the peasants with her ever so friendly and inviting personality.

Clarke, on the other hand, found herself a nice, cozy spot in third. With her eclectic group of friends, she is well-known by most, a scholar, an artist, and maybe a bit of a nerd. Her gang consists of Raven, the mad scientist, Octavia, the warrior, Jasper and Monty, the double geek twins and no they aren’t related, Belamey, the jock, Finn, his bitch, and Murphy, the asshole. Of course there were floaters, people who bounced around to different groups throughout the year, joining her group daily. 

Nonetheless, junior year would cause this boiling, pent up rivalry to finally climax in an epic battle. Oh yes my faithful reader, this is where the journey begins. With the arrival of a new family at Arkadia High, Clarke, hopefully, would prevail in this sadistic game of fate victoriously. Yes, the presence of this highly athletic, intelligent young woman will cause tensions to rise to new heights. Because for once, after a relentless decade of rival hood, both girls were gunning for the same prize. 

Lexa Woods.

And you can best believe, Clarke never wanted nothing more than to claim first.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, glad to see people are enjoying this so far, so as a bonus adding the first proper chapter on today. Might be a weekly update so apologies in advance for that. Hope you enjoy this and let's keep Clexa alive!!! :)

Already, the first day of junior year has not been kind to Clarke. A stressful morning left the blonde feeling a strong urge to go home, burrow under her covers and give up on today. Despite setting her alarm clock at a punctual six-thirty, the blonde awoke only twenty minutes before she had to leave. After a quick shower, she bounced on one leg as she tried to pull on jeans with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and one arm through the sleeve of her shirt. Stubbing her pinky toe twice and slipping on the rug in the hallway, the blonde sprinted out the door without breakfast. Then, apparently, Clarke’s trusty steed, Old Bertha, chose not to turn on. After waving her arms wildly, cursing the heavens, and repeatedly kicking the tire of the car, she had the pleasure of walking to school.

Unbeknownst to the frustrated girl, there would a small storm passing quickly through the city. Halfway there, curiously, Clarke glanced up to see menacing, stormy gray clouds looming overhead. A split second ago, the warm yellow fireball in the sky was beaming down. And yet, a few moments later, a loud thunder clap rumbled causing the blonde to jump slightly. All of a sudden, those black pillows released its wrath of torrential downpour. Another roar emits from the sky as water droplets fall at a rapidly, pelting unsuspecting pedestrians. Across the street, wide eyed and mouth agape, a homeless man and innocent bystanders witnessed a random blonde, drenched from head to toe, pointing up at the sky, screaming expletives, and waving her arms in a frenzy.

Sprinting down the street, the mad women safely made it indoors. Still relatively early, Clarke headed straight to the bathroom. Inside, three stalls lined one side and a row of sinks on the other. Next to the full length mirror was two hand dryers. With a sigh, the blonde knew what she had to do. As girls filed in to primp and gossip, they witnessed a blonde, hair askew, hunched under the hand dryer in attempts to dry her wet clothes. Squatting like Gollum, Clarke scowls at each and every one of them. Unfortunately, she misses first period, causing the blonde to duck behind people, press against walls, and dive into empty classrooms in avoidance of the homeroom teacher. Thankfully, after texting Octavia, the brown haired warrior, a cold Clarke snuggles into the warmth of her Arkadia High sweatshirt. Conveniently, the blonde had left it in, Octavia’s older brother, Bellamey’s car. Taking this moment as the turning point of the day, the Clarke happily crossed the threshold into Art Appreciation. However, her great mood soured quickly four uneventful class periods later.

Finally, it is time for lunch. Loud chatter of several conversations, giggles, and slamming of lockers fill the air while teachers attempt to clear the way. Waiting patiently at her locker is Octavia Blake. After O punched Murphy in second grade when he yanked on Clarke’s pigtails, they became inseparable. Now, several years later, the fearless girl has become one of her longest and closets friends. Casually, the black haired girl leans against the row of lockers while playing with her phone. She absentmindedly runs the zipper of her black leather jacket up and down, waiting patiently. Smiling to herself, the blonde watches as she elbows her way through the pods of students standing in the middle of the hall.

“Please tell me your day has been a hell of a lot better than mine,” Clarke says approaching.

Hazel eyes glance up, “I would definitely say so since a picture of me hunched under an air dryer, scowling like a troll under a bridge, is not posted for everyone to see.”

“Damn cell phones.”

Octavia smiles watching the blonde open her locker, “Someone sent it as a snapchat, which turned into a screenshot that landed on the school’s website.”

Slamming her locker closed, Clarke shuts her eyes. Feeling a boiling of frustration, the blonde clenches her jaw. So, she counts, one, two, three inhale, and one, two, three exhale. With eyes still screwed shut, her head leans back slightly before the pale forehead connects with the cool metal. Clattering noisily against the force, she pulls away. Upon the pale skin is a small tinge of red.

“This day needs to end,” she mutters.

A warm hand shoots out to stop her, “It’s Monday, what can you expect?”

“Yeh, I guess. Come on, let’s go to lunch.”

Tugging on her arm, Octavia pulls the blonde closer, maneuvering through the halls. Reluctantly, Clarke allows herself to be dragged as she pulls the hood overhead. She sighs softly when they entered the bustling cafeteria. Smalls groups of teens filled the space. Most sitting down at the long grey tables. Loudly, kids talked, laughed, and gossiped. Various pods of girls sat with their arms raised high to take a selfie. Most likely, others spent their free time scrolling through various platforms of social media. It was a madhouse. Each group of people remained with their own table. Jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, if you stayed in your zone, lunch went by smoothly. Glancing over, three different long lines leading to the food station. A slight groan comes from her best friend upon seeing this as well.

A waving hand catches her eye, “Raven is over there.”

Making their way over, the mechanic smiles at her approaching friends. Tugging her baseball tee down, smoothing out her ponytail, Raven pushes Jasper out of the way. Meeting Raven Reyes was quite an experience considering the blone has never met anyone like the her. Snarky, sarcastic, slightly crude, and a genius, this gorgeous girl could hotwire a car and create a homemade explosive. Which, the outlandish and brash behavior of the brunette is how they all met. At the ripe age of twelve, Octavia and Clarke found themselves the target of a young boy named Murphy. And apparently, the two girls were not alone. Sticky fingers Murphy had a habit of stealing Raven’s first tool set when she wasn’t looking. One day, Clarke and Octavia, spotted a young Raven, dressed in overalls with one dangling, snickering behind a tree. Seemingly, a devious little Reyes had placed dog feces in a brown paper bag, lit it on fire, and knocked on Murphy’s door. All three of them watched as Murphy opened the door, screamed, and stomped on the bag barefoot. And at that very moment, Clarke and Octavia became friends with the little pyromaniac. As they approach the two, the blonde feels herself relax.

“Hug?” Raven asks opening her arms.

The dejected blonde walks straight into her while Jasper whistles lowly. Leaning back, curious blue eyes follow his gaze to see Costia strutting towards them, posse in tow. Great. Decked out in her uniform, consisting of a dark blue short skirt and matching top with the words Arkadia High on display, Green dismissively waves her hand. Automatically, the crowd of students scurry out of the way for the school’s royalty. Most afraid of committing social suicide and others fearful of her wrath. It was written in stone, Costia did not play fair. A manipulative, power hungry, selfish, callous, fake bitch, Clarke thinks. Unfortunately, almost immediately, their eyes meet. And while the blonde struggles to suppress an eye roll, Costia purposefully makes her way over. Stopping in front of the blonde, she lifts her hand to silence the group behind her. A smug smile plays at the red stained lips. Raven tenses as Octavia stands between the artist and the cheerleader.

“Keep it moving Green,” O barked.

An exasperated sigh leaves the blonde’s lips.

Costia smirks, “Why so hostile Blake? Is it because you know this year will be no different from the last and you will always be your brother’s little shadow?”

A snicker from the cheerleaders fill the cafeteria as Octavia clenches her fists. And with that, Clarke pulls away from the warm, comforting embrace of the mechanic to handle the brewing situation. Touching O’s balled fist, the blonde pushes herself between the two.

“What do you want Costia?”

The cheerleader flips her hair over her shoulder, “I just wanted to congratulate you. I mean, it’s the first day of classes and you have managed to humiliate yourself already. Brava Clarke, you have out done yourself.”

Letting out a harsh breath through her nostrils, Clarke contemplates whether the principal would go easy on her, since it is the first day, if she was to slug Costia in the face.

“Look, I am not in the mood to deal with your superiority complex today. So why don’t you and the blood suckers keep moving?”

Costia stares at the blonde, still smirking. Oh what she would give to wipe that stupid smirk off her face. But, before another word can escape either girls’ lips, a deep voice breaks the tension.

“Everything all right here girls?”

Marcus Kane, a history teacher, patiently stands there with a neutral expression. Meeting his eyes, Clarke gives a small nod in reassurance.

“Everything is good with me.”

Kane glances over, “And you Ms. Green?”

Blue eyes flicker back to see Costia flip her hair over her shoulder with a wide grin, “Of course Mr. Kane. We were just getting lunch.”

“Good then you can come stand on the end of the line right now.”

Costia’s smile falters as Clarke’s smirks. The blonde relishes in the feeling of justice being served. With a quick nod to her friends, the cheerleader pushes her way towards the end of the line. A hidden thumbs up from Kane causes the blonde to smile in return.

“What a bitch,” Raven mutters quietly.

Uneventfully, the rest of lunch flew by. Sitting with her friends at lunch lifted the blonde’s spirits quite a bit. As the last class of the day approaches, she walks into the silent room. Spotting Raven towards the back, Clarke automatically goes to take the empty seat next to her. Upon hearing movement, the mad scientist glances up with a playful grin.

“Long time no see.”

Clarke plops down, drops her head against the desk and grunts in response. Rae chuckles softly while reaching out to rub the blonde’s back.

“Rough day?”

A snort, “That’s an understatement. And brilliantly me decides to agree to help Jasper out after class instead of going straight home.”

The blonde lifts her head to look at Raven, “Do you think you can do me a favor Rae Rae, the smartest, prettiest, and coolest person I know?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me,” the mechanic replies laughing. “What’s up?”

Clarke clicks her tongue, “Well, you see, Old Berth-“

“Oh god no, Clarke,” the girl interrupts groaning. “Please tell me you took it to the garage last week like I told you since the starter needed to be replaced.”

“Yeh, about tha-“

“For fuck sakes,” Raven sighs, “I’ll order the part tonight and fix it over the weekend.”

“Thank you, thank you. You just made my day.”

Clarke flung her arms around her best friend while peppering the side of her face with kisses. Raven fakes a pleasurable moan.

“Jesus! If fixing your car gets you this excited, why don’t you let me come over and unclog your pipes?”

And there it was. Clarke elbows her friend slightly as the brunette lets out a hearty laugh. At that moment, the loud screech of the bell rings once again. Unlike most classrooms, the lime green walls are bare. No posters, no signs, nothing, just two windows, five perfectly straight rows of six single desks, a mahogany desk with a calendar and a basket sits in front and a white board hangs against the wall behind it. Towards the back of the room, a stack of thick, heavy textbooks waits to be handed out. Silently, with a grumpy expression, Pike watches students trickle in. A shake of the head or click of the tongue displays his displeasure for teaching, especially teens. Slackers, he thinks. All of them are slackers. Relishing in the frowns upon some faces when the realization hits of being placed in his biology course. After elbowing Raven, Clarke places it on the smooth surface and leans her cheek against her hand. Immediately, Pike stands up with a menacing glare.

“Welcome. I will be passing out the syllabus. Don’t lose this packet. Enclosed are the expectations of this course, reading material, assignments, and grading system. I will repeat, do not lose this packet. I will not be giving them out again. So don’t bother coming to me whining or begging for another. You all are almost adults act like it. Now, you have a few moments to read it over as I take attendance. After, you can ask me any questions you may have.”

Grabbing the packet from the girl in front, a noise grabs her attention. Inquisitive blue eyes flicker over to the slight creak of the door opening. And suddenly, her mouth dries. Oh. With shoulders back, head held high, a young woman steps in and closes the door quietly. A sleek, fitted black leather jacket covers a slim torso and black skinny jeans hug long legs. Clarke’s eyes flicker over to the brown hair that twists into an elaborate braid and lays against a broad shoulder. Wow. Swiftly, tugging her black satchel over her head, the brunette weaves through to an empty seat. A dissatisfied noise of aggravation comes from the front of the room as Pike glares.

“Well since you decided to be late to my class. How about you introduce yourself?”

Quietly, everyone turns their attention to the new girl who stands up unfazed. Clarke licks her lips, staring intensely. Lifting her head high, posture rigid, emerald green eyes dance around the room observing. Before their gaze can meet, Clarke finds herself ducking head down. Shit. Curious emerald eyes linger upon the golden tresses while a neutral expression graces her features. Almost as if, she is preparing a speech to address the nation. Cautiously, once again, the blonde lifts her gaze to catch a strong jaw clench slightly.

“I’m Lexa Woods. I would like to apologize for my tardiness Professor. If you would kindly excuse my rude behavior. You see, it is my first day at Arkadia High and I’m having a little trouble navigating through the halls. I’m sorry.”

Strange tickles of butterfly wings erupt deep in the blonde’s belly upon hearing that soft, firm, and husky voice. So elegant. So strong. Unlike most new students, Lexa stands tall, almost regal, confidently making her presence known. Almost demanding the attention with her dominance as she glowers at her peers. A shiver runs down the blonde’s spine as the girl commands the room. Feeling a sharp elbow to her side, Clarke quickly glances over at the mechanic. Blue eyes watch as Raven mouths the word, hot. That does not even begin to describe the leather wearing goddess. Swallowing thickly, Clarke looks over at Pike who stands there completely caught off guard, blinking rapidly.

“I see, yes, well, next time, I won’t be so lenient. Where have you moved from?”

A curt nod, “Thank you and Polis, sir.”

Pike clears his throat, “Very good. Yes, well, welcome to Arkadia. Now sit down and go over the syllabus.”

Lexa disappears from Clarke’s sight. Damn. A small bubble of disappointment forms in the bit of her stomach. On the other side of the room, Lexa, slinks back into the seat and unzips her leather jacket. Glancing to her right, a smirking Anya, her cousin, mockingly shakes her head disapprovingly. Throwing a glare, the brunette turns her attention towards the front.

With a clipboard, Pike grumbles, “Alright slackers, when I call your name please stand up and give one fact about yourself.”

As the teacher drones on, back on the other side of the room, Clarke fidgets slightly. She feels a small pull in the pit of her stomach, urging her for another glimpse of the girl. Subtly arching her back to stretch, she leans back against the chair. Turning her head to the left, the blonde makes every attempt to catch a glimpse of the brunette. Except someone with dirty blonde hair is blocking her view. She scowls slightly, damn it. A soft snicker catches her attention. Raven, watching closely, throws a playful smirk.Busted. Sitting up quickly, the blonde eyes her friend ripping a piece of paper and proceeds to scribble.

A few seconds later, a note drops onto Clarke’s desk.

_Totally subtle Griff. Thirsty much?_

Clarke narrows her eyes and hastily writes back.

_I have no idea what you are talking about, Mrs. Hudson._

Pike calls out, “Griffin.”

Moving to stand up, the blonde pushes her hands into the pouch of her sweatshirt. A warm heat travels throughout her body as all eyes turn to stare. Swallowing thickly, Clarke catches herself thinking about the possibility of those emerald eyes watching her.

“Hey I’m Clarke and an artist.”

Sinking back down her seat, she opens the note.

_First of all, if you ever call me that again, I will cut the brake line on Old Bertha. Second, I wouldn’t be talking, Mrs. Woods. You got a thing for the Commander over there._

“Green,” Pike calls out again.

Groaning inwardly as she scribbles a question down.

_Commander?_

Well, you all should know me. But, for all of those who don’t,” she winks towards Lexa’s direction. “I’m Costia, head cheerleader. Let’s go Arkadia High!”

Loud claps from excited football players fill the room as others whistles in delight. A slight chant of Arkadia begins lowly. Aggravated, Pike rubs his forehead as the noise grows. Slamming his fist against his desk, a yell of enough echoes. Immediately, the rowdy class quiets down as a frightened Costia quickly takes her seat. Clarke finds herself wickedly smirking at the sight.

“Thank you, now, Hudson.”

A floppy, brown haired boy in a football jersey stands up, “I’m Finn, and that pretty lady in the red jacket over there is my girlfriend Raven.”

Pike rolls his eyes as the class whistles and hoots. The blonde shakes her head with a small smile as Raven sticks her tongue out. Raven and Finn, the school’s most notorious on and off again couple, have had a tumultuous relationship from the start. After a strange encounter in the principal’s office, romantic feelings began to blossom. However, only a few months in, the mechanic found him in bed with a one of the cheerleaders. Despite him being a womanizer, a Don Juan, a modern day hot-headed Lothario, Raven always takes him back. Leaving Clarke to wonder if she will ever learn. And yet hoping one day the mechanic will realize that she deserves better.

“Thank you Mr. Hudson for that riveting detail. Now sit.”

Finn throws the brunette a wink before taking a seat.

Pike calls out, “Reyes.”

“Yo, Raven here. I like to fix shit and blow things up. Holla at me sometime.”

Plopping back down in her seat, laughter fills the air. Even the blonde chuckles softly at her best friend’s brazen antics. However, Pike glances up from the clipboard to give her a pointed look.

“Language Reyes,”

She salutes, “aye, aye Cap, won’t happen again.”

Tapping her pencil against the desk, a note drops down once again.

_Yeah, Lexa, she is known as the Commander in Polis. Before moving here, she went Grounder High, our rival school. Don’t you remember? Last year, when O played for the school’s softball team, she kept bitching about the Grounders kicking their ass in the championship game. Apparently, the Commander is a star athlete. O should be happy this year._

Eyes widen in realization; Clarke bites her lip. Octavia spent a whole week, relentlessly, complaining about Lexa the Commander. Repetitively saying, how she wished the brunette was on their softball team. Hastily, she scribbles back a response.

_What a small world._

Raven throws her a sly grin before writing something else.

_I’ll just assume you will be attending all of O’s softball games this year. Huh? Need some of the Commanderade to quench that thirst._

Scoffing at the remark, Clarke draws a very elaborate middle finger, which causes the mechanic to snicker.

“Woods.”

Anxious blue orbs look to the opposite side of them room where the brunette is standing tall once again. Clarke lets out a shaky breath when her gaze lands on plump lips. So kissable. Feeling a warm tug deep in her belly, she rubs her sweaty palms against her jeans. Look away, Clarke. Look away, she wills herself, trying to avoid inappropriate from entering her mind. With a stoned expression, Lexa’s eyes flicker over to the blonde in the corner. If one was to look close enough, they would see the small lifting of the corners of her mouth. A tiny, almost minuscule, smile graces the serious features.

“Yeh, I’m Lexa,” She pauses, “I like art.”

Curious emerald eyes remain fixated on the young girl as their gaze locks. Throwing the blonde a wink, almost comically, blue orbs widen like saucers. Oh my god. A small gasp spills from her lips. The wild beating of her heart causes pale cheeks to flush. Did she? Clearly caught off guard, a fit of coughs erupts as Raven chokes on her drink. Quickly, ducking her head, the blonde finds the top of the tan desk very interesting. Did she?

A note breaks her thoughts.

_Looks like the Commander has her eyes set on a Princess. Are you sure you don’t need some of that Commanderade??? You seem a bit parched. I got your favorite flavor, Lemon Lexi._

Throwing a death glare at Raven who is grinning like a banshee, pale fingers slither through the blonde locks nervously. Her hand tugs slightly at the tangles while the artist’s mind drifts elsewhere. As if unsure of what she witnessed, Clarke replays the scene from a few minutes ago again. Did she? No, she couldn’t possibly, a slight pause, maybe? She has her reservations, her doubts. However, as the blonde deciphers reality from fantasy, she fails to notice the fiery gaze blazing from the front. Scowling, Costia Green frowns deeply at the flustered artist. Before that little stunt, the cheerleader had been shooting the brunette flirty smiles, which caused Lexa to raise an eyebrow questionably. Now, silently plotting, Costia’s eyes menacingly remain on her newest target and oldest foe.

A loud shrill of the final bell blares noisily, breaking the silence and stillness of the halls. Doors fling open wide while students herd out of their classrooms. Loud chatter, the clatter of metal doors slamming closed, and the scuffling of feet, leaves the blonde haired artist elbowing through the crowd. Going against the herd, Clarke hates that she decided to agree to assist one of the various clubs to hang banners and flyers. She mentally curses herself for allowing Jasper’s puppy dog eyes to sway her decision. A woman on a mission, she heads towards the auditorium while carrying a box of flyers and banners displaying bold, red letters screaming Battle of the Bands.

“Jasper!”

Leaning against the wall is a black haired, tall, lanky boy with goggles perched upon his head. Red over the ear headphones wrap around his neck, hiding the protruding Adam’s apple jutting out of the slim neck. Glancing up, he happily skips over, “Here let me grab that.”

Clarke let out a soft sigh of relief as she hands over the box.

“Did you get the ladder from the janitor?”

With a grimace, Jasper sways slightly unsure, “Yeh, uh, about that.”

Giving the boy a pointed look, he bites his bottom lip and toys with the staple gun.

“The Janitor said he will not be allowing the students to use the ladder after the incident last year with the football team.”

Right, of course, how could she have forgotten last year. Apparently, the football team tricked the Janitor into allowing them to use the ladder to hang decorations in the quad to celebrate their championship win. However, they failed to mention the small detail that decorations meant dildos and celebration meant senior prank. Thus, you can probably imagine the look on everyone’s faces upon arrival the next day. Dangling from the tall, hunched trees that littered the quad were dildos in various sizes and colors. Then, the football team proceeded to run around, weaving through the trees, in their jockstraps. It was safe to say that half of the team did not attend senior prom.

“Great so how the hell are we going to hang this?” Clarke asks rubbing her temples to relieve the building stress.

Jasper’s eyes lit up proudly as he points to the corner, “I got a chair.”

Leaning against the wall is your average metal folding chair, which causes Clarke to narrow her eyes at the boy. Overall, he is a sweet boy, except stupid. Very, very stupid.

“Do you see how high the entrance to the door is? You really expect us to be able to reach up there?”

Once again, he shuffles nervously, “Uh.”

“What is it now?”

“You know, I am, uh,” he leans forward as brown eyes dart around, “I’m afraid of heights.”

“Seriously Jasper?!”

Jumping back slightly due to the blonde’s outburst, the lanky boy gives a tiny shrug and a apologetic look. Letting out a harsh breath through her nose, Clarke snatches the semi-rolled banner.

“Hold the chair and I swear to God if I fall off-“

He interrupts her, “Your ass seems to have some nice cushion.”

Glancing back down, the shaggy haired boy eying her backside like a four course meal. Yanking off the light blue Arkadia High sweatshirt, leaving her in a low cut, light blue short sleeved shirt and tight jeans.

She responds sharply, “I am going to pretend I did not hear that.”

Throwing the banner over her shoulder and grasping the staple gun, the blonde kicks the open chair towards the wall.

“So did ya hear what happened to Murphy?”

Placing her right foot on the chair, she lets out a grunt in response while hoisting herself up. Leaning back slightly, Clarke studies the wall to try to decipher how to complete this task without a damn ladder. Let’s see. Flipping the golden locks back, curious eyes scans over the surface of the door.

“I heard Pike gave Murphy two weeks of detention because he was late to class this morning.”

She retorts, “in all fairness, Murphy is never on time. He also seems to be allergic to school.”

A light chuckle fills her ears before Jasper begins to ramble about his band. Quickly tuning him out, Clarke hoists the banner over her shoulder. Of course the club had to choose the longest banner she has ever seen for display. Pushing the staple gun between her legs, pale fingers tug at right side of the banner as two pale arms reached upwards towards the corner of the door. You got this, she thought, easy peasy lemon squeezey. Grasping the gun without dropping the banner, she pushes forward onto her tippy toes. Under the weight, the metal emits a soft whine. Willing for her arms to extend higher, she huffs in frustration. Just a little bit higher. Poking her tongue out in concentration, almost there, just a little bit more. With one hand gripping the staple gun, juggling the banner on her shoulder, and stretching one arm upward upon her tippy toes on a folding chair, seems is a recipe for disaster. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Clarke, her “oh so helpful” friend Jasper catches a glimpse of the cheerleading squad entering the building. Particularly, one girl with wavy brown locks catches the eye of the black haired boy. Salivating like a diseased animal upon seeing such a short skirt, almost magically, he floats across the room.

Clarke continues her battle with the banner, which she is clearly losing. Biting down on the fabric to prevent it from sliding off her shoulder, once again, she rolls on the balls of her feet to balance on her toes and stretches upwards. Internally, she curses herself for have average length arms. Seriously contemplating jumping up and hope for the best, one more time, Clarke rolls back onto her heels and thrusts forward onto her toes. Stretching even more, finally, the banner falls in the desired spot. Right there, she mutters sweating slightly. Seizing the moment, a pale arm swings staple gun with all her might towards the corner of the door. Squeezing the handle tightly, a loud click of the spring rattles nosily. Finally. Grinning to herself, proud blue eyes gaze upon the small area of the banner that hangs by a thread, or in this case a staple. Her torso moves forward to staple again, but immediately halts. In complete silence, a harden gaze watches the top staple pop right out and the banner hit the floor. A few moments pass of her staring at the pile of fabric with a blank expression.

“Fuck me.”

At this moment, she is ready to abandon all hopes. Actually, Clarke is ready to grab some damn duct tape and plaster this insubordinate banner against the wall. Maybe, just maybe, if she stuffs it in Old Bertha’s trunk and claim it was stolen, the club would believe her. No one will ever know, she thinks almost laughing manically. A soft chuckle from behind breaks her irrational thoughts.

“At least let me take you to dinner first.”

Running a hand through her hair, she turns around about to unleash a wrath of frustration upon this person. Her muscles seize before uttering a single word. Lexa, Lexa Woods, the very attractive new girl stands in front of her. Biting her plump bottom lip, hands stuffed in pockets of her black ripped jeans and a sheepish, almost nervous, expression, she moves closer. Oh my word. The blonde swallows thickly. Blue eyes travel from the intricate twine of a braid to the tan collarbone peeking out from underneath a white cotton shirt before snapping back up to meet the most striking green eyes she has ever seen. Those remarkable orbs filled with uncertainty and a hint of amusement gaze back at the shocked ones. Noticing the effect her presence is having on the blonde, those luscious lips quirk up into a sly smirk.

“Uh,”

Clarke tries to remember how to speak. Yet, her body, mind and soul seem to be short circuiting. Speak damn it. Looking for words to formulate a comprehendible sentence, she never expects what escapes her lips.

Embarrassingly, the blonde blurts, “you’re really pretty.”

A small smirk breaks into a full grin, flashing those bright white teeth. And at that very moment, Clarke knew she was a goner. Silently, she prays for a sinkhole to appear under the unstable chair and swallow her whole.

A soft husky tone, “Thank you, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Immediately, Clarke bites down on her bottom lip as she feels her knees tremble under the intense gaze. Oh fuck me. A heat spreads across her cheeks. She wills her mind to utter something intelligent, or at least less embarrassing. Use your words Clarke, use your words. Staring back into those endless green eyes, Lexa, tentatively, takes another step forward. Clarke’s brain screams, abort, abort the mission. Yet, like a block of ice, every muscle, every bone is frozen.

“I was heading home when I saw you struggling. I figured you could use some help since you are smaller than me. Wait, I am not saying you are short or anything since we are similar in height. But, I may have a few inches on you and really long arms. Well, I mean, not like freakishly long or anything like Mr. Elastic, but longer than yours. Fuck, not that you have- I don’t know midget arms or anything, like uh, because when I was kid I saw that movie Merlin. And, he told the branch to grow to save his love an- well now I know he had magical powers, but he made it grow. So I used to say that to my arms whenever I wanted to reach the cookie jar sitting on the top shelf. Eventually, I was able to reach it. I mean- because of puberty of course not because I am a Wizard, Harry,” Lexa froze with a horrified expression. “I cannot believe I just said that. Uh, ah, help, right, can I help you?”

Clarke, blankly, stares at the girl who is rubbing palms against the sides of her jeans. A few seconds later, the bumbling girl watches the blonde burst into a fit of laughter. Howling like a hyena, Clarke leans forward on her knees. She’s a dork. The blonde body shakes uncontrollably as Lexa crosses her arms over her chest with a huff of fake annoyance.

“You’re laughing at me.”

Quickly standing up red faced, Clarke shakes her head side to side with a tight lipped grin. She wanted to burst into laughter again, it was taking every ounce of strength not to do so. But, the cute pout of those plump lips and wide eyes has her body staying quiet. A pout forms into a small smile before Lexa shakes her head in disbelief at the events unfolding.

“Please, let me help you.”

The statement was so soft, so gentle in her request. Acting with her heart, Clarke begins to step down as long, slim fingers wrap around her forearm in assistance. Oh. Several valiant attempts were made to ignore the heat spreading from the protective touch throughout her body. With her heart racing, the blonde stands in front of Lexa. The tan hand continues to grip her arm. A soft scent of ocean perfume fills her nostrils as the athlete moves closer.

“Uh sorry.”

Quickly removing her hand, Clarke moves over slightly to give the taller girl access to the chair.

“If you could just hand me the banner,” a nimble finger gestures to the floor.

Breaking Clarke out of her stupor, “Right, sorry.”

Rushing over, pale hands hastily grab the edge of the banner and hoist it up. Almost mesmerized, the shorter girl watches tan arms easily reach up to secure the banner against the wall. A stunned gaze saunters down those nimble fingers to toned biceps, noting the strong curve of her shoulders, down the length of her torso and stopping at the tan skin peeking out from underneath white shirt. Oh my, my. zeroing in on those sharp, jutting hipbones, a tongue slithers out to lick her lips as her mouth dries. Eying the toned skin, she silently hopes the shirt slithers slightly higher to display tight abs.

“Clarke.”

Busted. Lifting her head quickly, she sees a smirking Lexa with an amused and smug expression once again. So smug. Red hot heat burns her cheeks as the blonde girl blushes in embarrassment.

“I need to get down so I can move the chair to the other side. So you need, to uh-move.”

Clarke nods quickly, “Uh, right sorry.”

Shuffling out of the way, the silent artist watches as the other girl effortlessly moves about. Hooking her arm around the back of the chair, the blonde’s stares at Lexa. Wandering blue eyes travel down the back of the athlete to admire the perky asset of her backside. She is a creeper. She is fully aware how much of a perv she is being at this very moment. But, it’s been awhile. And second, she has no control of her body right now.

“Clarke.”

Breaking her gaze, “Yea?”

“I need the banner.”

“Right, uh sorry.”

She walks over to the tall girl who is already standing on the chair, with that stupid knowing smirk, waiting patiently. So fucking smug. Lifting the rest of the banner up, nimble fingers brush slightly against pale ones. Clarke feels a shiver run down her spine when their eyes lock once more. Wow. The artists could feel her walls and irritation with this damn banner melt away. A hint of amusement dances before those green eyes as embarrassed blues shy away, a cat and mouse game.

“Ahem.”

Yanking her hand back as if she was burned, Clarke glances over to see Jasper standing there, eyebrow raised playfully. The blonde clenches her fist knowing full well the useless boy will gossip to their friends about this moment. A shit-eating grin sits upon his face while brown eyes dart back and forth, already formulating his own conclusion about what he just witnessed. Recovering quickly, Clarke slugs him in the shoulder.

“Where the hell did you go asshole? I was struggling for ages. Thank god someone had the common decency to help me.”

Jasper smirks, “Yeh, thank god for a beautiful brunette coming to save the blonde damsel in distress. How will you ever repay her, Clarke?”

Shooting a warning glance at the annoying boy, angry blue eyes silently tell him to shut the gaping hole on his face. Jasper’s grin widens as stares back saying, I’m going to Raven and Octavia. Unbeknownst to the two, the green-eyed girl finishes and hops down.

“No worries, it was all in a day’s work. You know, gotta keep the streets safe for beautiful girls like this little lady.” Lexa mocks as she puffs out her chest. Standing up tall with her balled fists sitting on her hips, “I must be going. Duty calls!”

Clarke watches in awe as the athlete, swiftly, slings the black satchel over her head. The black strap of the bag rests against the nape of her neck and runs diagonally down her torso towards her hip. The blonde licks her lips as her eyes follow the trail. A nudge from Jasper causes blue eyes to snap back up to meet green. Backing up slowly, with a cheeky grin, Lexa throws her a wink.

“I’ll see you around Lois Lane.”

Before the artists could respond, the new girl is out the door and sprinting down the steps. Still staring at the same spot, Clarke blinks repeatedly. The shaggy haired boy moves closer.

“Oh she is good. She is real good.”

And Clarke finds herself nodding in agreement. Oh she is so screwed.


	3. Chapter 2

 

            Two days later, the artist is still in awe. A star struck Clarke, finds her mind drifting off into a fantasy world starring a chestnut haired, green-eyed beauty. Superman, or Supergirl, faster than a speeding bullet, Lexa flew in and out in a matter of seconds. Rocking the blonde to the core, internally, her organs have become a jumbled mess. Thinking of Lexa’s smile causes fluttering in her belly. In moments of weakness, tiny sparks of arousal shoot down at the thoughts of touching, stroking that toned abdomen. Gripping the toned arm as golden locks whip back in ecstasy when plump lips touch the sensitive spot of a pale pulse point. Indeed, the brunette infiltrated every part of her being. Mysteriously, Lexa was a rubic cube; and subsequently, Clarke wanted nothing more to twist, turn, and complete the puzzle that is this girl.  

            Unfortunately, for the past few days, the blonde also finds herself dodging a good majority of interactions with friends. Trust, it was not because of anger. Nope, the repeated teasing about the very tiny, the size of a crumb, interaction with Lexa has been too much to bare. After the very strange encounter with the brunette, Jasper, despite promising not to do so, hinted to Octavia about the “spark” between the two. Mind you, hinted meaning explaining in grave detail with an abundance of footnotes citing a first-hand account of their meeting. Unsurprisingly, Octavia gossiped to Bellamy, who messaged Finn, who whispered to Raven and so on. You could only imagine the flood of text messages she received about the incident. As a result, yesterday, much to the blonde’s dismay, lunch had been anything but ordinary. On the contrary, Murphy, being the asshole he is, made several suggestive, yet crude comments about the toned physique of the brunette; which caused the blonde to see streaks of dripping crimson. If it was not for Bellamey, Clarke would have lunged over the table to stab the boy’s throat with a plastic spork. Then, if that was not bad enough, Raven and Octavia proceeded to start a group message, dubbed Operation Clexa, to strategize how to assist the artist in winning over the girl’s heart. Clarke loves her friends, truly and deeply. But, sometimes, an overwhelming desire to shove them all off a bridge with no life vests on, during a tsunami, overcomes the blonde’s mind every so often. Which, brings us to this very moment, Clarke darting through the crowded corridors to escape the wrath of a foe.

            “Clarke, wait up!”

            A pair of jean clad legs pick up their pace. Knowing who the voice belongs to, Clarke mutters defiantly, “no!”

               In attempt to flee the scene like a murderer, the blonde hastily pushes through the crowd and noisy halls. Receiving strange looks from peers, she ducks behind the bannister before peering out from behind. Desperately searching for an exit, interruption, or a place to hide, blue eyes flicker from wall to wall. No, not today. Squeezing through narrows passages between groups of students, the blonde can tell the girl is hot on her tail.

            “Griffin,” the cheerleader begins, “I just want to talk.”

            Like hell you do. Costia’s slim hand wraps around a hustling elbow mid-swing. Shit. Blue eyes turn to find green ones staring back, a threatening look etched on their face.

            “What?”

            Without another word, the slightly taller girl yanks the blonde into the closest empty classroom. A small shove causes Clarke to stumble inside with a small squeak. Son of a bi-. Immediately, arms shoot out as palms brace themselves against the edge of a wooden desk. Thinking to herself, the blonde wishes she had waited for Octavia to accompany her to lunch.

            A click of a lock, “so, Clarke, it’s been awhile since we have chatted one on one.”

            “What do you want Costia?”

            Quickly, the shorter girl stands up straight then turns around. Casually, the cheerleader leans against the door. Arms crossed, effectively covering the uniform’s letters of Arkadia, she shifts so sun-kissed legs cross at the ankles. Although her body language did not present itself as threatening, the look plastered on her face says otherwise.

            A click of the tongue, “always one to never beat around the bush. I’m glad that hasn’t changed. It was one of the things I liked the most about you.”

            Clarke scoffs, “seriously, what do you want? I’m going to assume you didn’t throw me in here to reminisce or talk make-up tips.”

            Coolly, the cheerleader pushes of the door to glide over, “and always so perceptive. Nothing gets by you, now does it Griffin?”

            “You are trying my patience.”

            A loud chuckle, or to Clarke, cackle rings through the empty space. Curly chestnut hair bounces when a head leans back exaggeratingly, “always the kidder as well. You know, you are about as intimidating as a Chihuahua.” Pale hands ball into fists as the girl continues, “such a loud yap, never a strong bark. Either way, I’m here to talk business.”

            Costia hoists herself up to sit upon a student desk. Ankles crossing once more, she leans forwards smirking while long fingers wrap around the edge of the surface.

            “It has come to my attention that we, shockingly, have similar interests in a particular someone. It also seems said person has taken quite an interest in you. And frankly, I have an issue with this,” Costia tilts her head innocently. “Although, I do find this rather amusing, considering you seem to be under the impression that someone like you has a shot.”

            Arms cross over her the purple material of a plain t-shirt while the artists continue to glare. The harden gaze of blue eyes bore back into green ones that sparkle with a hint of mischievousness.

            “Someone like me? What is that supposed to mean?”

            Throwing her head back cackling once more, “Oh come Clarkey, here I thought you were bright. You can’t be serious?”

            Clarke continues to scowl, waiting for the infuriating girl to explain herself.

            Costia smugly grins, “you hang with a bunch of losers. You dress like you shop at a thrift store with a blindfold. You drive a used, broken down embarrassment for a car. All you have going for you are the two globes hanging from your ribcage and silly little doodles.”

            Biting her tongue, Clarke digs her nails into her palms. Breathe.

            “I mean, let’s be honest with ourselves for a moment. There is no competition. If someone had to choose between me and you, I would be the obvious choice,” Costia smirks. “Look at me, I’m drop dead gorgeous. You, you are nothing but the silly, wholesome, little girl next door sweetheart.”

            A brief moment goes by as the two stare one another down. Throwing her hands in the air, “You’re right, Costia. Okay, is that what you want to hear? Maybe you are prettier than me. Taller than me. Skinnier than me,” Clarke spits out angrily. “But that doesn’t change the fact you are a shallow, cold-hearted, manipulative bitch who gets off on tearing people down and making them feel like shit.”

            “You lure unsuspecting, innocent people by enchanting them with your beauty and snap their necks the first change you get,” the blonde growls out. “You don’t deserve someone like her, you selfish cow.”

            Shocked at the outburst, Costia leans back, as if catching a foul smelling odor, face full of contempt. A sly smirk turns into a frown as the blonde continues, “and trust me, I rather live a lifetime celibate than date someone who has shown any interest in you.”

            With a small hop, Costia, scowling, stalks closer to Clarke. Straightening shoulders, the blonde puffs her chest out as she meets green eyes in a menacing gaze. Blood pumping rapidly through her veins, the blonde can almost feel it pulsing in her temples.

            “Look here Griffin, make no mistakes, I will not hesitate taking you down to get what I want.” Costia steps closer, mere inches away whispering, “the girl is mine. So back down like the good little girl you are because things will get ugly.”

            “I’m not afraid of you Costia.”

            “Well, you should be,” Costia retorts menacingly, stepping even closer. “I get what I want when I want it, Clarke. You should know that by now, second best.”

            Pale hands ball once again into fists, as the cheerleader pokes, “I guess you forgot about Niylah huh?”

            “Shut up.”

            Costia snickers backing up, “aw, here I thought there were no hard feelings. It’s not my fault she was looking for someone more,” greens eyes rake over the rigid body, “well, let’s say, more enticing.”

            Clarke swallows the lump forming in her throat, “you wormed your way in and stole her.”

            “And that’s exactly what I plan to do with Lexa if you do not back down. This,” she gestures dismissively, “is me being nice, maybe even considerate to your feelings. Once upon a time, we were friends. I’m just looking out for you. So, like I said, back down.”

            “Or what?”

            Costia smirks evilly, batting her eyelashes before responding simply, “I’ll ruin you.”

            The cheerleader acting as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Clarke bites her lip while furrowing her brows. A mental image of a winking Lexa flashes. A light tug on her heartstrings occurs when the girl recalls the shock of electricity emitted from a simple brush of their fingers.

            “You are a bright girl Clarke. So, I’ll just assume you won’t be stupid and try to challenge me.” Toned, sun-kissed legs take long strides toward the door, “as always Clarkeypoo, it has been a pleasure. Ta-ta.”

            And with that, Costia swiftly turns with a click of the lock. Swinging the door open, the cheerleader disappears into the sea of students. Wincing at the force of the door hitting a wall, the blonde remains rooted in her spot, seething. The audacity, the nerve of this girl. For her to act like the beautiful brunette is an object, a trophy, disgusts her. A sad pang causes eyelids to close with a deep inhale at the possibility of losing a chance with the athlete. Lexa, with those captivating emerald eyes, is a girl who is most definitely worth fighting for. Up until this moment, the blonde never felt such a yearning to challenge the cheerleader. Secure with herself, despite how Costia causes all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, Clarke never engaged, fought, or fed into the immature tactics. But, she can’t help but feel this is different, too personal. Maybe it’s the strong, immediate connection with Lexa feeding this moment of strength. Maybe, for once, the blonde hopes to be seen.

            Fuck this. Opening once again, determined blue eyes stare at the white wall in the back. Oh yes, fuck Costia. Clarke smirks. Fuck second place. The artist will not sit on the sidelines watching as the cheerleader scores again. Pale fingers tug a phone out of the grey back pocket. Rapidly, fingertips tap dance against the sensitive screen to unlock the device. As Clarke makes her way out of the room, down the less crowded hall, a mass text is sent under Operation Clexa.

            **_Clarke_** _: Calling all Skykru, Princess is going for her Commander. I repeat, Princess is going after the Commander. This is not a drill. Man your stations, a battle is looming amongst the horizon led by the wicked, the dastardly, Siren Green. She has made her threats to stand down or war. But, Skykru, we will not surrender. Let it be war._

Almost immediately, the quick buzz of a vibration tickles her palm.

            **_Raven_** _: Aw shit, yes ma’am, off I go to fetch the powder kegs. Start collecting glass bottles everyone, I’ll begin making the Poor Man’s Grenade. I hope the Siren is preparing for defeat._

_**Octavia** : If she wants a war then that is what she shall get. This Warrior will be honored to go into battle for the Princess. FOR PRINCESS! _

_**Murphy:** You all are fucking weird. But, for Princess, I guess. *thrusts sword into air*_

_**Raven:** Shut the fuck up, asshole. FOR PRINCESS! *waves hand full of grenades*_

_**Octavia:** Yeah! *thrusts up sword* Murphy, a little more enthusiasm would not kill you._

_Bellamey: Blasphemy, how dare the Siren speak to our Princess in such a vulgar manner. Troops, we must rally together, plan our attack and strike. With might, with fury, we must defeat this, alluring, soul sucking creature. FOR PRINCESS!_

_**Murphy:** Dear god, you all have gone mad. _

_**Finn:** When the moon is at its highest, we shall plan. Striking from the north, south, west and east, the Siren will not stand a chance. FOR PRINCESS!_

_**Jasper:** Monty and I agree, it would be an honor. FOR PRINCESS! _

_**Murphy:** You all disgust me. _

_**Clarke:** I am headed North to the dining hall for our feast. Let us discuss this more then. I thank thee for your loyalty. FOR COMMANDER! _

            Picking up the pace, grey-jean covered thighs push into a speed walk. A warning bell has already shrieked throughout the halls. Wincing, the blonde’s ear whimpers at the loud shrill of a final bell to signal starting of classes. Thankfully, as a tumble weed rolls across the ceramic tiled floor, the blonde can collect herself. A few stranglers shuffle, more like power walk, to avoid the inevitable detention slip for tardiness. As she approaches the cafeteria, the loud chatter behind doors can be heard. Today, Clarke is eating lunch from a brown paper bag, which means she narrowly avoids the long lines of starving students. Turkey, cheese, lettuce and tomato on whole wheat bread, wrapped in plastic wrap, sits inside waiting to be devoured. After the vending machine robs the blonde for overly priced water, Clarke finds her usual table. All the way in the back of the spacious room, the last table is occupied by her friends. Upon spotting the blonde, Bellamey immediately jumps up to bow to her presence.

            “Princess, how good it is of you to join us. Come,” he gestures smiling playfully. “Take a seat upon your throne. Council is ready to begin.”

            Laughing, a pale hand lightly shoves a muscular, jersey-covered shoulder. As Clarke takes a seat next to Raven, an arm wraps around her shoulder. Blue eyes dart up to meet smiling hazel ones while the mechanic takes a bite of her apple.

            “Now, tell us, why hath you called this meeting?” Octavia asks leaning forward on her elbows. “What awful, treacherous things have the slithering Siren said’th to you?”

            Pulling out her sandwich Clarke smiles as Murphy scoffs, “seriously? Still? Jesus fucking Christ, I need to make new friends.”

            “Good luck finding anyone who would want to be friends with your trailer park ass, Dickface Sir’Complainsalot.” Raven snaps back.

            Emori rolls her eyes as Murphy scowls before hugging her side, “you’re one to talk, Bitchy McBitchums.”

            “That the best you got, anal sucking piece of shit?”

            A few moments pass before Raven throws him a smile, which he returns with an eye roll. Jasper slams his fist on the table, “counsel please, let the Princess speak.”

            All eyes flicker upon the blonde who swallows then places the sandwich down. Rubbing her hands together, Clarke sighs.

            “Well my fellow counsel members, the siren has chosen today to make threats.”

            Bellamey asks, “Threats, for what purpose love?”

            “To keep’eth me away from thee Commander,” Clarke replies smiling.

            Blue eyes watch as they murmur to one another, “Siren Green has made’eth it clear that there shall be a war on our house if I was to pursue courtship with the Commander.”

            “Fuck’eth that bitch,” Murphy chimes. “If she want’eth a war, she shall get’eth just that.”

            “Yes well, you all know, Siren Green has been a foe to the Griffin house for more than a century. Dating back to the times of diapers and dolls, the enticing Siren has made’th a point to ruin’eth my life.” Clarke smirks, “but, she shall not prevail this time.”

            “With your help, my loyal friends, allies, and companions, I shall be victorious. I will win’eth the hand of the Commander.”

            As the table began to holler in acceptance, the blonde nodded with a small smile playing at her lips.

            Octavia says, “what shall we do to help’eth thee?”

            Finishing her sandwich, Clarke nods, “well, you see, the Siren with her wicked and vindictive ways, never fights fairly. I am afraid, she shall seek blood. And as you all kno-“

            A chorus rang out, “blood must have blood.”

            “Exactly,” Clarke nods firmly, “therefore, as of right now, we shall wait patiently until she make’th the first move. Then we will strike.”

            “But,” Raven interrupts, “what about the Commander?”

            Clarke sighs, “I am unsure at the moment how I will go about this. But, make no mistake, I will fight with all my might to win my lady’s hand.”   

            “Well, I think’eth, you may need our help’eth with that.”

            The blonde glares at Murphy, “Sir ShitsALot, what’eth are you trying to imply?”

            “You have’th no game.”

            Murmurs around the table continue, Octavia, “all that agree, say I.”

            Another chorus of “I.”

            “Mutiny!” Clarke gasps in feign shock.

            As Raven and Octavia began to talk about ways the group can assist the blonde talk to the Commander, Clarke spots Costia. Piercing green eyes throw daggers in her direction once more. Shifting slightly, blue eyes glances back down.

            What has she gotten herself into?

 

After a rousing lunch of dating advice from her motley crew, Clarke ran to her locker  and headed towards Chemistry. Excitedly, the blonde practically skips into the room with a grin on her face. Upon entering, blue hues look towards Raven, which causes all of her muscles to seize up. Shit. Sitting in the desk in front of the mechanic is the blonde-haired girl from the other day. Bitch. Clarke semi-glares, rude, this girl’s big ass head blocked her view of Lexa these past few classes. Flickering back over to Raven, the mechanic is laughing about something the girl said. Eyes dart to her seat before landing upon the person in front of it. Lexa. Fuck. Me. Lexa, the Commander, is sitting with perfect posture, her body leaning  towards cheekbones. Swallowing the huge lump in her throat, shaky palms rub against grey jeans.

            Raven, finally, spots the blonde and throws a wink at her. Of course. Clarke knows this is her doing. If not her idea, one of the delinquents she refers to as friends must have strategized this brilliant idea. Meanwhile, as the blonde stands there in shock. Costia sits in her usual desk, up front, glaring at the flustered girl. Knowing full well, Lexa moving to sit across the room was Clarke’s doing. A small hulk thrashes deep down in the chestnut haired girl’s stomach. Smirking to herself, a slim cheerleader body slithers down in her seat. Long leg stretch out, innocently, peeking out from underneath the desk.

            Clarke, snapping out of her stupor, feels her jelly legs beginning to walk. Keeping her eyes trained on the luscious, wavy locks of auburn hair, pale hands continue to nervously run against her thighs. Shit. Suddenly, the mesmerizing view of Lexa disappears behind a desk as the blonde’s face meets the cold, tiled floor. As the blonde’s heel rose, a warmness hooked around the ankle and tugged. Stumbling forward, almost immediately, pale arms stretch out to brace for impact; eyes squeezing shut. The echo of palms slamming against the tile floor as the weight of her body crashes down rings out. Luckily, the blonde manages to turn her head to the side, narrowly avoiding a bloody nose. Unfortunately, a pale cheek connects with the hard ground while a grunt falls from her lips.

            “Fuck! Clarke!”

            Raven, the blonde could hear shuffling growing closer. With her eyes squeezed shut, a groan escapes from pink lips as the dull pain kicks in. A soft hand grazes her back before pushing the golden locks away. Opening her eyes, a worried gaze from emerald eyes scan blue ones. Lexa cups her uninjured cheek, letting the tan thumb stroke the skin there, “are you alright, Clarke?”

            With such caring touch from the brunette, the artist’s body hums in content. Pale lips move to respond, but stop upon hearing Raven.

            A shout, “are you fucking serious?”

            Moving to sit up, Lexa assist by grabbing her elbow. “Careful.”

            Blue hues flicker over to see Raven being helped back by high-cheek bones girl. Costia sits there with an innocent face, she shrugs. “Calm down Reyes, it was an accident. Right Clarkey?”

            Smirking green eyes meet dazed blues, “Rae, just drop it.”

            “But she-“

            “What’s going on here?”

            Standing at the doorway is a menacing Pike. Quickly, Clarke stands up with the help of Lexa. Slightly stumbling once more, a tan arm grasps the elbow of the blonde to gently steady the girl.

            “I accidently tripped sir, that’s all.”

            Raven snorts, “accidently my ass, Costia did that shit on purpose.”

            Pike bellows out, “Reyes, language, I will not tell you again.” Black eyes direct to Costia, “Ms. Green, did you have any responsibility in Ms. Griffin’s fall?

            Costia sits up with a sweet smile, “no sir, it was all an accident. I guess Clarke is a bit clumsy since she tripped on her own two feet.” She continues, “but, I must say, she landed so gracefully.”

            Bitch.

            “Enough Ms. Green,” Pike glares at the girl, “Clarke, would you like to go the nurse?”

            Blonde hair shakes back and forth, “no sir, I’m fine. I’ll just sit down.”

            Pike nods before making his way over to his desk. Dismissing Raven and Anya back to their seats, the brunette and the blonde gaze upon each other.

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lexa asks softly.

            A long index finger raises to stroke the bruise, already forming, on a pale cheek. Wincing slightly, blue eyes watch as emerald ones’ scan over the assortment of black, blue, and purple. A small gasp slides out of pink lips as her breath catches.

            Clarke replies, “y-yes”

            “Ahem,” a deep throat clears behind the taller girl. “This is not the Young and the Restless or any other soap opera, girls. Please take your seats.” Pike orders with an eye roll.

            Quickly retracting her hand, Lexa shoots Clarke a tiny, sheepish smile, “sorry.”

            “Oh trust me Commander, Princess doesn’t mind at all.” Raven says walking by the two smitten girls with a smug smirk.

            Following Lexa back to their seats, the blonde throws a quick glance towards Costia. Scowling, arms crossed over her chest, Costia glares at her. Totally winning. Throwing the cheerleader smirk, the blonde shifts her backpack off her shoulders and onto the floor before sliding into her seat. Lexa turns her body to the side to stretch her legs into the aisle once more. The mechanic touches her friend’s arm.

            “You sure you are okay? That’s a nasty ass bruise already forming.” Raven said softly, fingertips gliding over the cheek.

            Blushing, Clarke swats the hand away. “It’s fine.”

            “The bitch is lucky Anya held me back or I would be serving it to you for dinner on a silver platter. Apple stuffed in the mouth and everything,” the mechanic scoffs aggravated. “She’s lucky I don’t slash her tires for that little stunt.”

            Anya smiles approvingly, “I like the way you think cutie.”

            “You should, I’m awesome.”

            And with that, Clarke rolls her eyes. Turning her gaze ahead of her, emerald eyes stare at her. Blushing slightly, Lexa looks away quickly. Skip, the steady thumping of the blonde’s heart jumps after catching the girl’s lingering gaze.

            “So, Superman, fancy seeing you over here.”

            A small smile engulfs plump lips, “well Lois, I needed to be closer to the window, you know, in case duty calls.”

            “Oh yes, would not want to keep you from saving the world,” Clarke says laughing slightly.

            Emerald eyes twinkle with playfulness, smirking, “one damsel in distress at a time.”

            “Well aren’t you too fucking cute.”

            Blue eyes flicker over to Anya and Raven who both have Cheshire cat grins. Hazel and green eyes flicker between the two girls, plotting.

            “Shut up, Anya,” Lexa grumbles embarrassed.

            Anya smirks, leans forward, and outstretches her hand, “I’m Anya, Superman’s cousin. You must be Lois Lane, huh Clarke? I have heard so much about you these past two days.”

            While shaking the girl’s hand, blue eyes flicker back to mortified emeralds, “so you talk about me?”

            “I,uh-wel-“ Lexa begins, “you see-“

            Pike interrupts, “alright slackers, quiet down. Turn to page ten in the text book so we can start another exciting lecture about things none of you will remember by midterm.”

            Saved. Grinning Lexa, after throwing the blonde a wink, turns around in her seat. Damn. Blue eyes flicker over to the mechanic who still has that stupid grin on her face. Of course, Clarke will be hearing from Octavia tonight. Anya, smirks as well, except it is directed to her cousin. Hurriedly, opening up her book, straightening her back, Clarke gazes towards the board. The blonde ready to scrawl words into her notebook, copying the presentation. However, it seems, her attention gets lost in translation since cerulean eyes end up studying the back of the girl’s head. Blue orbs scanning the wavy, chestnut hair pulled over the shoulder. Clarke lick her lips at the smooth, tan skin peeking out from underneath the collar of a fitted dark grey button up. Continuing to gaze, Clarke outlines angular shoulders straining against the material before sliding down the straight back. Catching herself, the blonde scolds herself at being such a creeper when a busty torso attempts to lean forward for a better view. A clouded mind already picturing the tan, smooth skin underneath the article of clothing. Fingertips tingling as Clarke fantasizes of gliding against the muscular back, dipping in and out of curve of a long spine. Immediately, she pulls out the sketch book, light scribbles of lines begin to form the shape of Lexa’s back.

            And may Clarke say, it is one fine back.

           

Arriving at Ark Middle School, the frazzled blonde is out of breath. Kicking Old Bertha’s door closed, hurriedly, legs take long strides across the empty quad. Fresh cut green grass, slices into two from the grey cement of the sidewalk. At the tops of tall oak trees are bundle of green with a few hints of yellows and reds. Bushes, benches outline the path and presses against red brick of the building. Breathing heavily, the blonde approaches the door. Yanking it open, she walks forward to the center of the room, sneaker squeaking against the polished linoleum. Across from the entrance is a small desk. A stocky, dark man sits behind the furniture, looking like a giant. Lazily, a pair of large feet are kicked up on the table while two hairy, dark skinned hands fold together to sit upon a slight pouch of a belly. A head tilts forward with a black cap reading security to cover friendly blue eyes; Earl naps.  

            Tugging a package of donuts out of her bag, Clarke quickly moves to sign in. A loud snore echoes the corridor as Earl wakes himself up, startled.

            “I wasn’t sleeping,” he mutters immediately.

            Clarke lets out a small chuckle, “secret is safe with me Earl.”

            The older gentleman grins as she hands him the small package of powdered donuts. “Ms. Griffin, how are you? Here for art therapy I see.”

            “I’m good and yep. This year, I am volunteering instead of participating.” Clarke asks politely, “how are you? Obviously, not getting enough sleep.”

            He laughs loudly, “you can say that again. You try having newborn triplets then talk to me. They are exhausting.”

            “I bet, I hate to cut this short,” Clarke gestures down the hall, “But, I gotta go! I’m running late.”

            Earl nods with a kind smile, “thanks for the donuts. Have a good class!”

            With a quick goodbye, curvy legs rush down the corridor. Blue lockers lined up against the walls, numbers descending as the girl passes classroom after classroom. Taking a left down at the end of the hall, she shifts the messenger bag full of supplies. Clarke recalls the first time she walked down these halls to go to art therapy. Art was always a hobby, never a possibility for a career. Every year for her birthday, Jake, her father, made it a point to purchase tubes of paints, pencils, sketch books, and brushes. Confused, the little girl would take the presents gratefully. Jake always seemed to see something in the blonde that she did not. And when Abby and her began to argue about future career plans, intervening, Jake always said to follow her dreams, never settle. Do something your passionate about and can’t live without. Something that leaves you satisfied at the end of the night, yet still craving it the next morning. Before the death of her father, the blonde would have just smiled politely, or nodded, not really comprehending the wisdom bestowed upon her.

            Clarke, being close to both her parents, always found solace with her father. Jake, a great, loving man who never judged and accepted everyone as they were was taken too soon. A life cut short the hands of a man’s actions of negligence, irresponsibility and carelessness. Nonetheless, even if Clarke tried, she could not recall a time when opening up to her father proved to be a challenge. A great listener, a confidant, and her best friend, Jake Griffin was an amazing soul. Naturally, after his death, life became a little colder, a little darker, and a whole lot emptier. The loss left an agonizing void within the blonde. A young heart yearned to hear the deep, bellowing of her father’s voice shouting to wake up for school. A stifling longing to see blue eyes light up as a flour war broke out during pizza nights. Quickly, a mourning Clarke found herself questioning, analyzing every aspect of her life. All of the emotions swimming within her became a heavy burden weighing on her heart. A burning of guilt wracked the busty form whenever she would laugh or smile. No longer would the home be filled with his deep, infectious laughter. There will be no loving smile that brightened up her room on those dark nights when a noise from her closet caused her to quake in fear.

            Eating less, talking to few, the blonde closed herself off to the world. Burrowing deeper into the hole, all she wanted was to disappear. Eventually, Clarke began to sleep the days away. It was easier to live without her father this way. Staying awake meant acknowledging the fact he was gone, leaving her to deal with the ghost, memories of him. At least when she slept, the tall man was still her dreams. Worriedly, Abby began to seek external help for her daughter’s downward spiral into depression. After much bickering, the blonde agreed to visit a therapist. However, Clarke found it pointless. Talking meant acknowledging his departure from this world and the blonde could not do that. On the contrary, pale fingers wanted to desperately cling to the untainted memory of her father. As she spiraled deeper, one day, Abby stumbled upon Art Therapy. Nyko, the blonde’s current boss, held two different groups for children and teens. Upon hearing the word art, the blonde immediately shut the idea down. Firing missile after missile like a fighter jet, she shot down any reasoning with the harrowing truth that her artistic abilities developed because of Jake. It was their thing and the blonde could not fathom picking up a piece of charcoal ever again. Eventually, a persistent mother got a reluctant Clarke to attend a solo session before a group. And that first day changed her perspective on everything. Instead of Art being a distant memory of a best friend it transformed into a way of expression. Instead of drawing silly cartoons, angry stokes of the brush became treacherous stormy seas and ship wrecks. In this therapy, Clarke could sketch, mold, or paint fears, anxieties and troubles. It allowed the blonde to feel without criticism, pity, or under intense scrutiny. She didn’t have to talk. Emotionally, if there were things that could not be said, it would be drawn. And with each session, breathing became a little less heavy. Life became a little lighter.

            “Clarke, can I speak to you a moment?”

            Nyko, licensed psychologist and her boss, walks over. Fiddling the bottom of his red tie, the man smiles kindly at the blonde. As she places the bag down, Clarke straightens out her black button up. Moving towards him, she pulls her hair up, and twists into a messy bun. A few strands fall out to frame the round face.           

            “Sure, what’s up?”

            A small smile, “well it’s your fist day as a volunteer. And lucky you, I already have a something for you to do.”     

            “Mhmm, I’m all ears.”

            Nyko gestures to sit down, which she complies with. “Well,” he starts, “we will have a new participant to the program this year.”

            Clarke nods happily, “that’s great.”   

            “Very. But,” he pauses slightly unsure, “the boy is a special case. We have yet to encounter a situation such as this. But, I’ve been mulling it over, and I think you will be able to help him tremendously.”         

            The blonde bites her lip with reluctance written all over her face. Art therapy has been a best friend during a dark troubling time. Without a doubt, when Nyko invited her to volunteer as one of the artists, she quickly jumped at the sweet suggestion. Spending all summer training with the physiologist, Clarke is ready to help in any way possible. But, a special case seems to be more for a professional rather than a volunteer, especially a newbie.

            “You see,” he sighs, “the boy, Aden, has not spoken for almost a year.”

            Eyebrows shoot up in surprise as Clarke listens attentively. Nyko leans forward on the desk, folding his hands. “Considering this is a group art therapy program, I am unsure how receptive he will be to the large group. My partners and I at the counseling center have been working with him during the summer.”

            Nyko pauses with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Unfortunately, no treatments or activities have been successful. To be honest, this is a last ditch effort. We figure if he does not want to talk about anything, maybe we can entice him to draw it instead.”

            Clarke nods before asking, “Why me though? Wouldn’t it be more effective to have a licensed professional working with him?”

            “Of course, which is why I will be observing closely,” Nyko agrees. “I’m not going to hang you out to dry Clarke,” he says laughing and Clarke smiles. “But, I think you will be good for him.”

            A brief pause once more.

            “You see, Aden, has suffered great loss. As you know, I am unable to go into great detail about his case. But, basically, at a very young age, his father abandoned his mother and sister. A few years later, he lost his mother as well,” Nyko explains.

            The blonde feels a sympathetic tug in the pit of her stomach. No child should have to live life without one parent, let alone two, especially at such a young age.

            “Well, to say the least, it was a violent manner in the way she died.” He sighs, “Unfortunately, Aden had been present at the time, witnessing the whole ordeal.”

            A soft gasp left her lips and Nyko nodded solemnly, “and since then, he hasn’t uttered one word. It is not uncommon for someone to exhibit such behavior after a loss or traumatic event. However, Aden has not yet dealt with any of this.”

            Nyko rubs his chin, “we don’t want to push him of course. All we are aiming for is him to express himself.”

            A few moments pass, Clarke digests the information while Nyko watches children walk in and place their stuff on other tables. “You see,” he begins once more, “I chose you since you also know what the loss of a parent feels like. You are such a gentle soul, Clarke. Very open, warm, and inviting to those who are seeking a place to feel accepted.”

            At those very words, Clarke felt her heart soar with pride.

            “He needs someone who is going to be gentle, soft, and caring with him. I figured, you could do some of the separate activities, one on one, with him. I will be close by to keep an eye on things.” Nyko explains, “I don’t want to scare him. So, a one on one session may be a little easier. Plus, you’re a fantastic artist. Maybe you will inspire him.”

            Clarke smiles kindly, “thank you. I must say, I am a little nervous. But, I would happily work with him.”  

            Nyko beams as he rolls up his sleeve, “okay, good. So, when he come in, I will bring him over to you. For today’s session, I want you to talk to him, ask him questions. If he doesn’t respond, you can just answer the question about yourself or go on to another,” he says grinning. “Then, I want you to have him draw or paint his emotions.”

            “Okay, sounds good. I’ll just set up some stuff right now.”

            Nyko nods as they both stand up, “thank you Clarke.”

            “No need to thank me, Nyko! I just hope art therapy can help him like it helped me,” the blonde responds genuinely.

            Cerulean hues gaze lingers as she observes Nyko greets a few of his patients with a big hug. In this art room, there are six round mahogany tables. Each has about six stools around the circumference. Various paintings ranging from still-life to stick figures plaster the walls. It is a spacious room. Towards the back, large cabinets can be found, storage for art supplies. A sink is located at the far end of the room as well. Clarke, immediately, heads towards one of the cabinets to retrieve a few pieces of paper as well as an assortment of colored pencils. Just in case, a pale hands grabs a few bowls for paint.

            As the blonde continues to set up for her first session, she can’t help but think about their conversation. Aden, a young boy, witnessed the death of his mother. One could only imagine the events that occurred to cause him to shut down completely. In a violent way, what could that mean? Actually, it could be a variety of different things, gang-related, drugs, robbery, murder, or wrong place at the wrong time. Immediately, a pang of guilt hits her core. She shouldn’t speculate nor should she be this curious about a tragedy.

            But, unlike the young boy, the girl was not present when a half-lidded, slurring driver swerved into the lane of oncoming traffic. Nor was she present when Jake attempted to dodge the runaway car heading straight for him. Thankfully, Clarke did not see his black sedan hit the guard rail with such a force that it flipped over and tumbled down a hill. Eventually, landing on the roof, the mangled piece of metal caught on fire. No, compared to this boy, the girl was lucky in a small way. Plus, there was Abby, her mom, to shield her from the replays on every news channel or prying eyes. She had her mother’s shoulder to weep upon. It seems, Aden has no one. And Clarke’s heart ached for him.

            “Clarke!”

            Glancing up from her sketchbook, Nyko approaches with a warm smile. Blue eyes flicker down to see a sandy-haired boy following suit. Aden. Mouth pressed in a thin line, cerulean, hollow eyes with bags of tiredness outlining them bore into the blonde.

            “Yes?”

            Clarke moves to stand up, Nyko nods. Kneeling down in front of the boy. Aden, stands there clutching upon a small notepad, knuckles white. The light blue, wrinkle free polo accentuates blue eyes. Upon the small torso sits black straps that disappear over this shoulder.

            Sticking her hand out, she gives him a gentle smile. “Hi Aden, I’m Clarke. It’s nice to meet you.”

            Quickly, Aden’s left leg shoots out to the side. Momentarily, his legs are spread before sliding his right foot to meet his left, effectively hiding behind Nyko’s leg. Sandy-hair pops out from behind the black dress pants, almost curiously. Yet, Clarke can see it in his eyes, fear.

            “Aden, it’s quite alright,” Nyko coaxes. “This is Clarke, the one I told you about. She is really great at drawing stars and the night sky.”

            Worrisome eyes scan Clarke’s face, observing, judging to see any hint of maliciousness. The blonde just gives him a warm smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle ever so slightly.

            “It’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

            A brief moments pass as Aden’s left eyes slightly twitches, contemplating, before shuffling towards the girl. Standing a few inches away, Clarke can see the scar embedded against his cheek. The quiet boy shifts the notepad to one hand, eyes never leaving the blonde’s before sticking his hand out.

            “It’s very nice to meet you,” a pale hand takes his to shake. “I hope you are excited. We are definitely going to have lots of fun.”

            With a blank expression, he stares at her. Nyko pats him on the back slightly, “alright kiddo, this is what’s going to happen.”

            Kneeling down, he places his large hand upon the small of Aden’s back. The young boy continues to observe the blonde’s every movement. She doesn’t mind. Nyko continues, “you and Clarke are going to sit over here and complete a really fun activity.”

            Aden’s head whips over to the man, frighten at the idea of being alone with a stranger. An overall sadness engulfs the blonde from the scene in front of her. It is unbearable to watch someone be so scared, so afraid of anyone he comes in contact with. An unsettling feeling washes over her like rain on a sunny day. At such a young age, Aden has learned this world is not full of rainbows and sunshine. No, more like heartbreak and sadness.

            “I’ll be around kiddo, don’t cha worry,” Nyko comforts. “Plus, if you’re lucky, you can get Clarke to draw you something real cool like a superhero! Right, Clarke?”

            Fearful blue eyes flicker back over, “yes, totally. I can draw almost anything.”

            The shaggy haired boy continues to stare at her before, reluctantly, shifting closer. Light squeaking of scuffed, dirty converses, Aden stands next to the blonde stiffly.

            “Okay, well I have to go greet some other students. I will be back in a few. Have fun you too.”

            Watching Nyko’s retreating figure, Aden glances back up towards the blonde. Clarke smiles, “how about we sit down and do some fun stuff?”

            Following the blonde, the sullen-looking boy moves to sit upon a stool. Placing his notepad and pencil down neatly, small pale hands fold together to rest upon the surface. Under the interlocked fingers sits the blank paper the artist had just placed down.

            “Do you want to take your backpack off?”

            Eyes roll towards her as he shrugs it off and places it on the other side of the table silently. Clarke nods to herself, “good. So, like I said, I’m Clarke and I’m really excited to be working with you.”

            Silence, blank expression bores into her enthusiastic smile. Yep, this is going to be interesting.

            “Okay, so today, we are going to draw or paint emotions,” the blonde explains.

            Grabbing a blank piece of paper, a pale hand lifts a yellow pencil. As she grips it, blue eyes quickly glance over to the boy. Curious cerulean eyes gaze upon the paper, waiting to see what the girl will do.   

            Clarke explains, “so, sometimes we feel certain things, but don’t know what they mean.”

            A pale hand moves to the middle at the top of the page. Pressing upon the lead, the writing utensil tilts back as a black straight lines descends towards the bottom of the page. Ultimately, the once blank page, now, is sliced in half by a thick black streak.

            “Sometimes, we know what we are feeling, but we don’t know how to express them,” tilting her head slightly, a neutral gaze meets hers.

            Turning the page vertically, the pale hand, once again, moves to the middle at the top of the page. Pressing hard, the pencil descends downwards, effectively cutting the page in half again. A whole piece now broken up into four squares by black streaks. The blonde’s gaze flickers over to meet curious blue eyes. From the moment he walked in, Nyko had been wrong.

            Aden is expressing himself, his eyes. They say, they are the windows to the soul. And in this case, Clarke couldn’t agree anymore. She admits, you have to look closely to see it. But, a small flicker of emotion graces his eyes every so often. Sometimes, like before when he was scared of Nyko leaving, you could visually see the worried lines of his forehead crease. It seems those types of expressions are a far and few. Yet, in his eyes, you can almost see what he is feeling.

            “Okay, so each one these boxes will be an emotion,” Clarke says pointing at one of them. Turning her gaze back to the boy, “do you know any emotions we can use as an example?”

            Aden stares at the blank space then at the girl. Silence. Patiently, the blonde waits to see or hear an answer. Emotionless blue eyes, flicker around the room before landing upon a huge poster with a smiley face. Black bold letters screaming, turn that frown upside down. Catching this, Clarke tries to not smile to wide as she notices the gaze.

            “Okay, how about happy?” she asks gently as curious eyes glance back towards her. This time there was something different swimming in the sea of blue. Clarke could not put her finger on it at all.

            With a small head tilt, he stares expectantly. Yes. Clarke smiles, “I’m going to take that as a yes. So what we are going to do is label this box happy,” soft scribbles fill the air. “Then we are going to draw a face, it could be a smiley one or a frog smiling, anything you want. But, I’m going to go with a monkey!”       

            A small flicker of excitement behind the blank expression, but the blonde does not see it. As she meticulously, draws two round circles for the monkey face, Aden observes quietly. Blue eyes slither over towards the golden blonde hair as he blinks. Traveling down, his inquisitive eyes trace down the black button up and land upon the drawing of a monkey once more.

            “So, that is happy! What else do you think we can use?”     

            The blonde turns her head towards the boy, observing blue eyes flicker around the room once more. Searching for an answer, Clarke waits while leaning against her elbow. Finally, she sees his gaze stop and blue hues follow. Outside, Nyko seems to be attempting to handle a very agitated parent. With his hands up in submission, the psychologist nods his head understandingly. A tall man raises his fists, shaking them. Face red, the man continues to seemingly yell.

            “Well, let’s see anger, perhaps?” She asks. “What do you think Aden?”

            Shaggy hair turns towards her to tilts slightly once more. Yes. A small smile plays upon her lips as she nods in agreement. Once she finishes drawing an angry monkey who is throwing bananas, briefly, blue eyes observe the corners of the little boy’s mouth quick up. A fleeting moment, the small mouth only shifts the tiniest bit. But, Clarke, the artist could see it in his eyes. A small flicker of amusement at the caricature.

            “Good, we have happy and angry! What else could we possibly use?”

            Once again, silently, blue eyes search the room around them. Amongst the room various paintings are hung. Flowers, shadows, mountains, fruit, stick figures, an assortment of artwork completed by a group of students. Noticing a frozen gaze, the artists glances over. In the corner, a picture sits. A background of grey and black, a silhouette of a young girl sits in the middle of the room. Head tilted down, arms wrapped around herself, curled in a ball, the bright glow of the moon shines through a window to illuminate the girl who sits broken.

            “How about sadness?” Clarke asks gently.

            Shaggy hair shuffles at the head turn and tilts. Yes. As the pale hand moves to sketch a sad monkey with big blue watery eyes, she says, “You know, I always hate and like being sad.”

            A quick glance to see blank blue eyes on her, “I mean, everyone hates being sad right? But, it is always a good thing to be sad.”

            Clarke stops to see his face is remaining neutral, “because when we feel our emotions, it is better for us. Mentally, physically, it all affects us in different ways.” She pauses, “but, it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be happy.”

            Blue eyes downcast towards the table, a pale hand stops its movement upon the paper. A gentle, comforting gaze lands upon Aden as he glances up with a small trace of puppy dog eyes. Clarke continues, “and when we let ourselves feel these emotions, especially the really yucky ones, we feel better in the end. Sadness is tricky though. It always creeps back in at the worse times.”

            Silence, she presses on, “but, when I’m sad, or even angry, I like to draw. Sometimes, I just angrily throw brushstrokes at a canvas or paint a rain cloud.”

            He gazes at her closely as she continues to drawing. “Sometimes, I also like to dance around in my underwear,” Clarke grins then whispers. “But, don’t tell anyone because that’s a secret.”

            A small flicker of amusement passes through cerulean eyes before the rigid posture and tense shoulders return.

            “Plus, the best part of being sad is the tubs of ice cream and all the Netflix you can watch.” She grins, “that’s my favorite part!”

            Aden’s hand twitches slightly while his shoulders remain tense.

            “Alright, we have happy, angry, and sad. Do you think you know another one?”

            Blue eyes do not search the room. No, like twig snapping under a foot, the neutral expression breaks. Tense shoulders slack and slump slightly as if someone removed a huge pile of weight. Down casted blue eyes look up to lock with the artist. Softening of the facial features, a slight jut of the bottom lip, Aden’s tired blue eyes swarm with sadness and fear. Clarke feels the overwhelming sensation to pull the young boy in a hug. A heartbreaking expression etches across his face as if, for the first time, he is allowing someone to see. Quickly, his eyes shift towards the canvas of the girl sitting alone before meeting Clarke’s blue eyes once more.

            The blonde bites her lip trying to understand the other emotion he is trying to share with her. It’s obviously supposed to evoke the emotion of sadness, maybe even fear. And it clicks.

            “Scared,” a soft whisper, “right?”

            Eye flicker down before the head tilts to the side. Yes. Swallowing the lump that has formed in her throat, the pale hand moves to the last box and draws. A picture of a monkey, clutching a blanket to its chest as a shoulder curls in fright. Clarke glances back at the young boy to see him glaring at the picture. A harden gaze, blue eyes scan the figure with a slight quiver of a bottom lip. The artist cannot find the right words to say. Because in this moment, the boy is telling all.

            “How are we doing over here?” Nyko asks smiling.

            Quickly, a neutral expression graces the pale face as eyes dull. Damn. Clarke curses the man for interrupting.

            “Good, I was just showing Aden-,” she gestures down, “what he will be doing.”

            Nyko crouches down, “that’s great. You ready to try doing it by yourself Aden?”

            Silence, a blank stare, dull eyes, and lips pressed together in a thin line. Small fingers twitch slightly under the scrutiny while shoulders push back once more. Suddenly, a strong sense of familiarity tumbles through the blonde upon observing Aden’s small, yet profound movements. Huh. As if the girl has witnessed a similar stance, Clarke finds herself at a loss from this familiar feeling.

            “Okay, I’ll leave you two to it.”

            After the man walks away, tiny shoulders slouch slightly as white knuckles release. Blue eyes flicker back at Clarke, waiting.

            A small smile graces her lips, “okay, here is a pencil.” A pale hand places one down upon the paper in front of him. “I also have some colored pencils. If you want to get all fancy that is,” she throws him a wink. “Now, all you have to do is make your own using mine as an example. Remember, you can use draw faces of people, frog, superheros, anything.”

            “There is no wrong answers in art,” she states encouragingly.

            Silence, Aden continues to sit there. Small hands folded together upon the paper while his blue eyes bore into Clarke. Silently, the pair remain still waiting for the young boy to make a move.

            “So, Aden, what’s your favorite color?”

            The blonde shifts to pull out her sketch pad, wanting to draw something inspiring for the youngster. With the silence engulfing the two of them, Clarke answers her own question,

            Soft scribbles, “mine is green, forest green to be exact. It seems to have changed the other day.”

            Not glancing over at the boy, her right ear catches a sound of shifting. Normally, the artist would gaze over. But, she is too afraid to unintentionally cause him to shut down. So, hoping Aden is participating in the activity, the artists focus on her drawing, A small silhouette of a boy in an open field. In the distance, shadows of tress are shown. Head tilted up, the boy gazes up into the night’s sky. Quickly, Clarke continues to sketch a clear, nights sky, riddled with thousands of glowing stars.  A collection of twinkling specks creates the big dipper.

            “Do you have a favorite movie?” Clarke doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, knowing full there will only be silence. “I can’t say I have an all-time favorite. But, I do like Disney movies, maybe even a little horror.”

            As she grabs a few colored pencils, blue eyes shift slightly to her left. The round, pink nub on top of the long yellow barrel swivels back in forth. A small hand clutches at the bottom of the base as Aden leans forward, shaggy hair covering his face, to hide the paper. A small feeling of happiness flutters in her chest as she smiles to herself. Biting her bottom lip, blue eyes flicker to peer over the boy’s head. Nyko, with a small smirk, watches closely at the interaction. Two thumbs are thrown her way before she glances back down at her own artwork and continues to talk to the silent boy.

            Time passes quickly after the small victory. Clarke spends her time coloring the sketch while asking random questions and answering. Surprisingly, Aden, silently of course, remains focused on the activity.

            “Aden, your Aunt is here for you,” Nyko says softly approaching.

            Quickly, the young boy hastily folds the paper up into a small square. Once again, tense shoulders return, rigid posture, a neutral expression plasters small features. As a tiny hand grabs the black red backpack, Nyko remains quiet, waiting to see the boy’s reaction. On the other hand, the artist, carefully, pulls the piece of sketch paper out of the pad.

            “Well Aden, I had lots of fun working with you today, “Clarke says softly.

            The shaggy haired boy turns to the blonde with a blank expression. A pale hand sticks out, “it was very nice meeting you. I hope you decide to come back next week again.”

            Shakily, a tiny hand grasps goes into shake a pale one. Instead, it jerks slightly to grasp onto her forearm. Despite being very confused, Clarke follows suit as blue eyes continue to stare at one another. A tiny nod from the small boy while warm grin graces her lips. Yes. She knows this is his way of saying, I’ll see you next week. After letting go, slim fingers grip the small folded paper and press it into the blonde’s palm, which she closes immediately.

            “Before you go, here, “Clarke folds the sketch in half. “I made this for you. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

            A blank stare gazes at the paper before taking it. Grabbing his little notepad, Aden turns to follow Nyko. In the front of the room stands a very intimidating, almost infuriated, looking women. With shoulders back, an intense, almost judging, gaze pierces blue eyes. Slightly wincing, Clarke looks away from the rigid, postured women. She could see where the boy gets it from now. As the trio disappear in the hall, Clarke is left alone.

            Curiously, nimble fingers open the small paper. Placing it upon the desk, cerulean hues scan the area. Aden did, indeed, follow the instructions. However, the emotions used upon the examples were abandoned. One could only assume, the young boy replaced the basic, meaningless, emotions with his own.

            The top left corner is labeled “mad.” A circle with yellow streaks of short hair represents a young boy. Black lines slant downwards above two round circles with blue dots in the middle. A line of up and down, jagged lines connect to form a mouth. On the other corner, labeled “scared,” is another picture of a sandy-haired boy. This time, blue dots inside the round circles, eyes, are shifted to the side with blank lines slanted up. Connected to the head is a small torso, which has two stick arms wrapped around stick knees with a horizontal, upside down “c” representing a small frown. Blue eyes flicker to the bottom left, labeled “sad.” This time, there are two faces. One of a shaggy haired boy with a tear rolling down his face. The second face of a blonde girl with a deep frown upon her face. Floating on the side next to her is a square labeled ice cream. Pink lips quirk up into a smile, realizing Aden had been listening; and was fully aware of the conversation she was having with herself.

            “Little cheeky monkey,” Clarke mutters grinning.

            At the bottom right corner, labeled “home/safe,” two faces are drawn once more. The same shaggy-haired boy except, the upside down “c” is right side up in a smile. Next to him is a picture of a girl. Brown hair, round circles with green dots and a black line quirks up into a small smile at the corners. The playfulness of the smile gleams back at the blonde. Hm. The artists stares at the drawing with a nagging feeling of familiarity once more, déjà vu almost.

            “That went better than expected.”

            Jumping slightly, blue eyes meet Nyko’s smiling ones, “you did great Clarke. It seems Aden has taken to you, which is rather shocking. It took, at least, five meetings for him to warm up to me.” He squeezes her shoulder, “I knew you would do well.”

            Clarke nods silently as hands move to gather her supplies. In the meantime, Nyko picks up the crinkled paper to exam. Without a word, he places it into a manila file, most likely Aden’s record. 

            “You made more progress in an hour than anyone has in months.” Nyko beams proudly, “you know Clarke, maybe you have an enact for this after all!”

            She smiles softly, “yeh, maybe I do. Anyway, I have to rush out on you, homework calls.”

            Nyko nods understandingly, “yes, very well. I will see you next week, same time.”

            “Yep, have a good rest of the week,”

            And with that, Clarke slings the bag on her shoulder before making her way out. She had a great time. Working with Aden, one on one, was a very humbling experience. A rush of excitement for next week surges throughout her body. Being able to show another person the greatest part of art, the expression, inspires the blonde to pick up some charcoal, draw, and never stop. However, deep in her core, the nagging feeling of uneasiness with a hint of deja-vu continues to intensify. Something about the posture, the neutral to blank expression, the shoulders back and the drawing of the green-eyed girl, Clarke couldn’t put her finger on. Like a captivating novel, the blonde feels herself course through a roller-coaster of emotions. Sadness for the boy, sympathy, confused, thrilled, it is a bit overwhelming. As if this is a mystery, Clarke has urges to solve, to close the puzzling case that is Aden. Most of all, deep down, a strong tidal wave of hope to help the young boy feel better, maybe even talk, splashes her belly.

            Because when Clarke felt so alone. When she thought she had no one. There was always someone around for her to cry, scream, or talk to. Compellingly, Clarke finds herself wanting to be that person for young Aden.  

           

           

             

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys hope you are still enjoying this :) I'm @ClexaSteph on twitter if anyone wants to asks questions or just to say hello. Let me know what you think!!!! Peace out


	4. The bonfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys if the layout is funny, I'm posting this from the airport, I'm off to Germany for the week so hopefully when I come back I can updated the new chapter and reformat this one. Just thought you might like an update before I go. Enjoy :)

3 Weeks Later

“Aden, go brush your teeth and get ready for bed,” Lexa shouts while washing the dishes. “I’ll be there in a minute.”  
A soft pitter patter of a race car onesie echoes through the hall. Lexa lets out a soft sigh. In a moment of weakness, the brunette can’t help but wish she could turn back to a simpler time. If only there was a time machine, she thinks bitterly. A longing to hear his carefree laughter and the gentle tone of his voice tugs at her heartstrings.  
“I hear you, Lincoln, and Anya will be attending a party tonight.”  
Breaking the silence is a low, stern voice. Rinsing the final plate, the brunette places it on the rack, dries her hands and turns to face the menacing women. Between the island and kitchen counter, Indra, her aunt, stands tall, arching slightly and hands behind her back. Rigid. A soldier by nature.  
A nod, “yes, a bonfire at the beach. And before you lecture me on teen drinking, I will not be partaking in those festivities.”  
Unfazed, the older women stare while the young teen folds a dish towel neatly.  
“Very well, I must speak with you about Aden. Gustus and I have discussed setting up a meeting to discuss his behavior with the principal,” Indra continues. “We were thinking in a month or two to see if he adjusts. I’m assuming you want to be present.”  
A click of the tongue, “yes, he is my brother and my responsibility.”  
To be more specific, half-brother.  
“Lexa.”  
Shaking her head, “can we not do this right now? I need to say goodnight and get ready.”  
Without waiting for an answer, the brunette walks down the narrow corridor. Light on her feet, graceful steps barely interrupts the stillness of the house. Along the wine colored walls, various pictures sit perfectly in their black frames in a straight line. One in particular catches the distant emerald eye, their first camping trip. A scowling Anya, sitting on a rock with arms crossed, glares at a shirtless Lincoln who stands proudly flexing beside the girl. Oblivious to her cousins, a grinning Lexa, with a laughing Aden upon her back, stares straight into the camera. Happy. A constricting squeeze of her lungs, if only she knew then. Maybe, just maybe, these hands could have shielded blue eyes to protect the flicker that has blew out.  
“Aden, did you brush your teeth?”  
Upon entering the room, hands reach out to grab dirty clothes strewn on the floor. Tossing them into the small hamper in the corner of the room, Lexa bends to gather various toys to put away. Sitting in the far corner, near the window, is a telescope. Angled up towards the sky, it waits patiently to have its lens admired.  
“How do you like your new school so far?”  
A deafening silence fills the room as the unanswered questions dangles in the air. Continue to ask him questions, they say. Keep addressing him even without a verbal response. Yet, no one understands that with each passing moments of silence, a small crack appears to chip away at her core.  
Looking over to the twin bed, “have you made any new friends?”   
With a blank expression, empty blue eyes bore into emerald ones. Silence.  
“Well, Indra told me you are sticking with the art based therapy once a week. That’s pretty cool.” the brunette moves to sit on the dark green quilt. “You know; I wouldn’t mind a picture to hang on my walls.”  
How did they get here? Glancing over at the mahogany nightstand, neatly placed next to a touch lamp is a notepad and pencil. Reaching out to grab it, she lets out a defeated sigh.  
“I will never push you. But, Aden please. If you wish not to speak, can you try to write instead?”  
Handing the sullen-looking boy a pad opened to the first page, the brunette waits patiently.  
“Please,” a whisper, “beja.”  
The gentle tone cracks as Lexa glances up quickly to blink back tears. How to fix this? How to help him when she was just a kid herself? Staring down at the pad, the boy makes no movement to answer her pleas.  
A few moments pass, “Okay, let’s get you to bed.”  
Placing the notepad on the nightstand, the crinkling of sheets breaks the silence as a small body shuffles. Almost automatic, her hands move to tuck the sides of the green quilt around the fragile boy.  
“If you need me, call okay? Lincoln, Anya and I are going out for a bit,” she flicks on the Superman nightlight. “You need me and I’ll be here.”  
The boy clutches at his stuffed bear as if frightened by the possibility of a monster under the bed. Fearful blue eyes, anxiously, flicker over to a picture of three and back to the brunette. As if silently communicating the reluctance he refuses to verbalize out loud.  
“I’ll be okay, I promise,” Lexa reassures knowing full well what he is thinking, “I’ll always come back for you.”  
Nimble fingers brush a few strands of blonde hair away from the pale forehead. Worried emerald eyes sweep the features of the boy, wishing she could ease some of the pain.  
“I love you Aden,” a soft kiss lands on his cheek.  
Silence. Like clockwork, the brunette waits for any movement, and yet, receives nothing. A sad smile graces the plump lips as she straightens up. Tomorrow is a new day. With a tightness in her throat, long legs quietly walk out.  
Deep down, she knows she should have been there. A hot, searing burn of guilt slices at her core. Ignoring the heaviness of the weight crushing her chest, a lone tear rolls down. And yet, a tan hand does not reach up to wipe it away. No, instead she pretends it was never there.  
At this moment, being weak is not acceptable. Scolding herself, she has no right to cry. Because there is a parent less, ten-year-old boy laying in a foreign bed, who has not uttered a single word for months. His anguish weighs heavily on her shoulders because she should have been there. But, she wasn’t; and every day, she swallows the knife welding guilt, puts on a stoic face and faces the day.  
“You okay?”  
Dazed, the brunette looks over to see her eldest cousin, Lincoln, leaning against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. Sorrow. His presence, features, and stance display signs of sadness. A worried crease forms on the tan forehead, as if he is afraid acknowledging the past would will shatter the girl. Brown eyes look upon her with a gentle gaze, pity. A well-defined jaw, covered with black peach fuzz, slightly shifts side to side.  
She nods, “fine.”  
Pursing lips, his bald head bobs,” it’s okay if you’re not.” Pausing chocolate eyes meet green, “jus- you’re not alone. Anya, me, Indra, and Gustus, we are here for you and Aden. Whatever you need.”  
“I know. I am very grateful to all of you, especially your help with Aden.” It’s her turn to pause, “he’s having a hard time adjusting.”  
The muscular and broad shouldered boy cautiously shuffles over, not wanting to scare her. Placing a strong hand on the brunette’s bicep, he slightly squeezes. It is so light, like a kiss from the tips of a feather when it skims across your skin. A small gesture that goes miles. Lexa can feel the sting of unshed tears beginning. A comforting gesture telling her it’s okay to feel, to grieve. No. Once again, scolding herself, the brunette cannot bring herself to be in the moment. Regretfully aware that she cannot shed the cloak of the strong, the controlled, and the rational part of herself.  
“I’ll go say goodnight,” Lincoln informs her. “You should go get ready. Anya is almost done and you know how impatient she can get.”  
A slight twitch at the corners of her mouth, “annoying and persistent like a kid on Christmas morning.”  
Lincoln snorts, “that’s putting it lightly.”  
With a small nod, Lexa stalks off to prepare for a night out. When she enters the shared room, Anya stands there in a black, lacey set of lingerie. Dirty blonde hair wrapped in a white towel perched upon head, she is frowning. On the right side of the room, Anya’s area, clothes are strewn all over. Such a fucking slob. On the floor lay various blouses and jeans, and upon the unkempt bed lay another several articles of dress.  
“I don’t know what to wear.”  
These past few months have been an adjustment for the brunette as well. Anya, without hesitation, removed her queen size bed in order to fit two twins. It is quite a spacious room. Large enough for both girls to have one side to themselves without overlapping. Lexa, originally, unsure how much there would be for the two of them, automatically knowing she would sleep on the floor or couch if need be. As long as Aden is comfortable, she told them. Moving across the room, the brunette sits down on the bed that is pressed up against the wall, near the window. A black quilt lays upon the mattress neatly.  
“I thought you don’t care about, quote on quote, stupid shit like makeup and clothes.”  
Anya raises an eyebrow, “doesn’t mean I don’t want to look good.”  
Tugging off her shoes, Lexa contemplates her cousin’s behavior.  
“The only reason you ever choose to impress is-,” Lexa smirks wickedly, “is when you have a crush.”  
“No.”  
“Yes! Who is it?”  
Anya huff in irritation, “there is no one.”  
“Uh huh.”  
“No one.”  
“Yep, sure.”  
Anya throws a shoe, “stop fucking smirking at me like that. There is no one.”  
“Okay, okay, I believe you.”  
A few minutes pass as they both finish to getting ready. After a hot shower, Lexa is feeling a little relieved, less stressed. A worried line creases on the tan forehead, hoping Aden sleeps through the night. Or, at least, remain asleep until she returns. Almost every night, the young boy wakes in a fit of terror. It is always the same. A mixture of sweat and tears slide down his face while relentless thrashing of his limbs occur. Screaming with such terror as if seeing a ghost, the boy cries out. Buttoning her white dress shirt, she recalls the night Lincoln attempted to calm the child. Practically convulsing, Aden launched himself into his sister’s arm as soon as she appeared. Lexa being the only one who can soothe the tremors that course throughout his small body. She has lost count of all the sleepless nights. Nimble fingers, expertly, roll the white sleeves before brushing the wavy, chestnut tresses and sweeping it over a broad shoulder. Rubbing her hand against the black jeans as she checks the black eyeliner highlighting the green eyes.  
“The girl in the red jacket.”  
Lexa glances over clearly confused, “huh?”  
“The girl in the red jacket. Pike’s class.”  
“Raven?”  
Reluctantly Anya simply replies, “Yes.”  
As the two make their way over to Lincoln who sits on the couch waiting patiently.  
“And for the record, it is not a crush,” Anya grabs jacket. “I’m just showing her what she is missing by dating that airhead of a jock.”  
A small smile gracing her lips, Lexa shakes her head at her cousin’s blatant denial. As trio head to the beach, Lexa starts to hum “Lady in Red,” which causes Lincoln to mouth the words. After a few moments, the two cousins are belting out the lyrics, effectively pissing off Anya. Barely refraining from mutilating her own family, she threatens to render Lincoln unconscious by blunt force trauma, high jack the car and drive down the highway; not stopping until their miles away from civilization, where she will proceed to leave them there without any form of communication.  
The rest of the ride is silent.

Tugging on a grey, form-fitting sweater, Clarke decides to wear a pair of dark blue ripped jeans. A quick glance tells her Raven should be here any minute with Old Bertha. Thankfully, the garage had the part on site. The mechanic, being the doll that she is, spent the past two days fixing old reliable. Quickly rushing to apply light makeup, consisting of eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss, Clarke runs a comb through her hand as the door swings open. A golden knob bangs against the wall, signaling the brunettes arrival.  
“Bitch, I’m here.”  
As she walks out, there is a low whistle of appreciation, “I see you have your ass hugging jeans on tonight. You Ms. Griffin have such a nice asset,” Raven grins. “Get it? Asset.”  
“Yes, I got it, oh so clever one,” the blonde stuffs her keys in pockets along with some money. “Come on, we are going to be late.”  
Raven scoffs, “If you would drive us, it won’t be a problem.”  
“First of all, gas is frigging expensive. And second, the beach is literally down the road.” Clarke replied smirking. “Plus, you could use some exercise.”  
A sharp gasp fills the air while a hand shoots out to roughly shove the artist. Laughing, the blonde grips the forearm to tug the girl closer. A grey sleeved covered arm is thrown over the mechanic’s shoulders. Quietly, the two continue their descent down the road.  
“You know; Lexa is probably going to be there. Are you going to grow some lady balls and talk to her tonight instead of your usual creeping?”  
Every fiber of Clarke’s being seizes up, leaving Raven to continue walking. Frozen in mortification, the blonde stares directly ahead with a wide-eyed expression. Shit. What if Lexa is there? Would the brunette want to see her? Talk to her?  
Unfortunately, there has been only a handful of times she has seen the stunning girl. Most of those occurred during their ninth period class, Chemistry, and even then, fate keeps them arm’s length away. With only the ability to gaze upon the girl from afar, Clarke can tell you the side profile of Lexa is excellent for sketching. The sharp angles of her features causes a persistent itch in the hand of the artist to pick up some charcoal. She could also tell you that Lexa, when concentrating, tends to furrow her brows, slightly scrunch her nose, and tap her pen on the desk. She probably takes excellent notes, Clarke thinks, all neat, organized and bulleted. Now, with the girl sitting directly in front of her, the artists finds herself sketching more than writing. She thoroughly enjoys the days when Pike allows the class to pair themselves in groups.  
So, Clarke, what are you going to do?

As Lincoln throws the car in park, it is pretty obvious the party is in full swing. Illuminating the sandy shores is the bright flicker of the roaring fire accompanied by the glimmer of the moon. Thousands of twinkling little specks litter the clear, night’s sky. Upon opening the door, several distinct sounds echo in the distance.  
A gentle lapping sound can be heard as water kisses the inlet of the sandy shore. Greedily, the sea pulls the tide back into its depths. Within a few minutes, there is another crash of waves followed by the lapping sound once more. Lexa feels her body begin to relax at the soothing tones. In the distance, groups of teens huddle around the massive burning of cedar wood. Although the laughter, chatter, and light music fills the air, every so often, a loud crackle of splitting bark sounds off. Tiny sparks fizzle up into the sky. Feeling uneasy, the brunette watches from afar. She has never been one for large crowds, including parties. Considering she is still the “new” girl, Lincoln and Anya are her only friends, well family.  
She thinks about Costia. Without a doubt, the green eyed beauty is here. Undeniably gorgeous, the girl can be very aggressive. Personally, the brunette cannot judge without knowing more about the cheerleader. Yet, the continuous flirtatious smiles, winks, and the not-so subtle touches are very overwhelming and slightly unsettling. Sometimes, Lexa finds herself inwardly cringing from the persistent efforts. Very fucking cringe worthy. On separate occasions, the brunette notices the graze of the cheerleader’s hand, or the light tickle of her fingers inside a tan wrist does not elicit the same response she felt the other day. The fateful day or, as Lexa calls it, banner disaster causes her to smile wide. She recalls the warm tug in her stomach when she gripped the pale forearm and the explosion of tingles with the brush of their fingers.  
Now, the athlete’s mind begins to wonder about something, or shall I say someone else. Specifically, a blonde-haired artist with blue eyes as deep as the ocean and a radiant smile. Like most of the students, every day, Lexa finds herself counting down the minutes until ninth period. For her, chemistry has never been so interesting. Even though a tan hand is always writing notes fervently, emerald eyes manage to drift over. Leaning forward, hoping for a glimpse, Lexa shyly observes the blonde bob her head while kicking her feet under the desk. Far away in her own little world, a tiny smile engulfs plump lips. Sometimes, the brunette likes to think that the girl is drawing or doodling at times from the way the lead of a pencil tilts, rubbing side to side. Now, although the girl sits in front of the blonde. Lexa finds ways to look at her without being too suspicious. Like the time where she turned her body as if she was stretching to catch a glimpse of golden hair. Or the one time, desperately, Lexa “broke” the tip of her pencil; so she’d be able to turn around to see sapphire eyes. She knows, it’s pathetic.  
Ah, Clarke and her soft golden hair leaves the brunette in a flabbergasted mess half of the time. A calm demeanor shines out to the world. Yet, internally, the harden heart becomes a ball of mushy mashed potatoes. Embarrassingly to admit, since helping the blonde, Lexa has been avoiding her. Only reason being is she made a complete fool of herself. The brunette praises herself to remain calm, rational, and level-headedness. Yet, that day, she proceeded to say, “I’m a wizard, Harry.” Realistically, it’s Clarke’s fault. Yes, all fingers point to the blonde, considering her mere presences causes Lexa to sweat uncontrollably. Quaking, stomach and intestines like shoelaces, swoop underneath one another, loop together, and pull tightly.  
Wait, is she going to be here? A peaceful feeling dissolves as tiny bubbles of nervousness sizzles up to the top from the possibility of Clarke’s appearance. Unfortunately, there will not be a bell shrieking, an agitated Pike yelling, or any other excuse to prevent the brunette from making a fool of herself once more. Yet, despite these reservations, this newly discovered prospect excites her.  
As the trio approach the gathering, Lexa swallows thickly. A wafting smell of hotdogs and other meats cooking fills her nostrils. Mouthwatering, Lexa follows her cousins over to the grill area.  
“Bellamey, hey!”  
Holding a spatula with a “kiss the cook” apron, a very handsome black haired boy stands in front of the grill. With a beer in hand, he throws Lincoln a nod and welcoming grin.  
“Linc! Hope you are hungry! We got ribs, burgers, hotdogs, the works.” He glances over at the other two, “Sup Anya?”  
As Lincoln moves to grab plates, Anya throws the boy a bored expression. Lexa stands close to her cousin and grabs a hotdog, silently observing the scene.  
“This is my cousin Lexa; Lexa this is Bellamey. He’s on the football team with Lincoln.”  
Bellamey gives her a cheeky smile, “Wait, Lexa is it? Oh shit, damn, she was totally right about you.”  
Shifting uncomfortably, “She? Who is she?”  
Before the quarterback could reply, an arm wraps around Lexa’s waist. Stiffening slightly, Lexa twists to see the girl she was thinking about. Touching, she is touching me. With a dimple filled grin, the green eyes of Costia shines right back at emeralds.  
“Hey there,” she begins. “Fancy seeing you here.”  
An annoyed scoff comes her right, “well hello there, Goddess Costia. I am surprised to see you lowered your standards to grace us mere mortals with your impeccable beauty and starlit personality. Tell me, shall I get on my hands and knees now or just bow?”  
Costia tilts her head to look over Lexa’s shoulder with a sickly sweet smile.  
“It’s good to see you as well, Anya. Tell me, did they manage to remove the large stick you have had jammed up your ass since birth?”   
Scowling the dirty-blonde, high-cheeked boned girl sarcastically responds. “Funny, actually they did, thanks for asking. You know, like a kidney in a jar, they sent me home with it. And if you know what’s good for you, you will mind you tongue or I’ll be shoving it down your throat later.”  
A loud clearing of a voice interrupt the possible catfight. Lincoln grabs his sister, “okay. Come on, let’s get some food.”  
Lexa hears Anya mumble, “she started it, the dozy bitch.” Stifling a laugh, the brunette manages to free herself from the clutches of the cheerleader. But, apparently, a swaying Costia causes the chivalrous Lexa to catch the tipsy girl and hold her steady.  
“I see someone has started drinking already.”  
Cos thrusts her cup in the air, “it’s a party! Come on Lexi, let’s get you a drink.”  
“Uh,” Lexa winces as Costia drags her over to the cooler. “I’m not drinking tonight.”  
“Aw come one, live a little babe. You are only young once.”  
Ducking under Costia’s arm, a tan hand grabs a can of soda, “I’m good, really.”  
Long fingers shoot out to grab at the collar of the brunette’s white shirt. She tugs lightly,“you know, there is something about you that is very alluring, almost intoxicating.”  
Lexa shifts away, “uh thanks?”  
“Mhmm, tell me Lex, are you single?”  
Jesus Christ, Lexa thinks. Gulping the sugary substance, emerald eyes dance around, searching for someone to dip in and save her. Perhaps, even contemplating whether throwing herself in the ocean is enough to elicit an S.O.S response. Startling Lexa, Costia runs her index finger up and down the tan forearm.  
After an another gulp of soda, Lexa clears her throat. “I am. But, I’m not looking for anything serious. There are many things calling for my attention right now and dating is not one of them.”  
Or at least you anyway.  
“Such a shame, we would be great together.” Costia begins licking her lips as her eyes rake down the slightly taller girl’s body. “I wouldn’t mind being friends, who help each other out from time to time either.”  
Oh boy. The brunette swallows thickly, she thought everyday Costia was relentless. It seems tipsy Costia is surpassing that by far. Subtly shaking off the caressing finger, Lexa takes a small step back to distance herself.  
“Like I said, I’m not looking for anything serious. You seem like a great girl Costia, but, “she pauses, “I’m just not in the right frame of mind for anything like that.”  
A fire sparks behind green eyes as a flirty smile sours into a frown. Oh no, Lexa knows that look very well. Shrinking back slightly, she watches the cheerleader opens her mouth to respond. Thankfully, the loud deep voice of Bellamey halts her. Still wearing an apron, he waves his arms widely, shouting.  
“Griffin, Reyes, over here.”  
Ears perking up upon hearing that name, the brunette glances towards the direction of the parking lot. Quickly, eyes flicker back and forth to catch a glimpse of the beautiful blonde. She only spots her when a black haired girl with several braids tackles the artist into the sand laughing. Who is that? Biting her lip, Lexa watches as the same girl pull the girl up and drag her over to the barbeque. A queasy feeling engulfs her as the black haired girl latches onto the Clarke, who makes no moves to remove the hold. Raven, frowning deeply, trails behind with a disgusted look while Finn tries to talk to her.  
“Helloooo? Lexa,” a hand waves in front of her face. “Are you even listening to me?”  
“Huh? What did you say?”  
Without glancing at Costia, emerald eyes remain locked on the artist as she hugs Bellamey. Licking her lips, eyes wander down the grey sweater to admire the curve of the jeans hugging the girl’s backside. Damn. Looking back up, between Clarke’s radiant smile, the lightness in her eyes, and the way the glow of the fire flickers off her face, Lexa can feel her heart ready to explode.  
Forgetting about her company, Lexa stands there almost hypnotized under a casted spell. Meanwhile, an aggravated Costia, baffled by the lack of attention, hones in on where, more like who, the girl is staring so attentively at. A pang of jealousy with a tidal wave of anger causes the cheerleader’s jaw to clench in fury. Clarke Griffin, Miss. Sandra Dee, stands a few feet away. Knowing the brunette is slightly smitten, so enthralled by artist makes her skin to crawl. Before a scene could be made, a devious smirk spreads upon those pink lips, an evil glint in green eyes.  
“Oh, it’s Clarke!” Costia says mustering up some excitement.  
Lexa’s head snaps back, “You know her?”  
“Of course,” Costia snorts, “we have known each other for years. She is such a sweet person.”  
The corners of the brunette’s lips quirk up as her eyes drift back. Clarke is now sitting on a log with Raven in front of the fire. Laughing, smiling, the girl chats with the people she greeted earlier.  
“Yeh, she seems really genuine and nice.”  
Inside Costia’s stomach, a green one-eyed cyclops shakes its fists in the air, clearly distraught. Once again, it punches her in the gut. “Oh yeh,” she grits her teeth, “a talented young artist with a bright future.”  
Lexa bites her lip. trying to hold back a smile. While Costia’s face contorts into a sour expression upon uttering such endearing words about the girl.  
“You know; I can tell you things about Clarke no one knows.”  
The cheerleader’s hand touches the tan forearm once again. Breaking her gaze, Lexa reluctantly glances back. As eyes lock, a weird, rather ominous feeling nags at the brunette. Hitting hard, the wave of uneasiness tumbles through.  
“Um.”  
Trying to figure out what to say, Lexa stares into green eyes searching. Trying to decipher how genuine the cheerleader’s words actually are. But, thankfully, someone finally saves her. Immediately, she recognizes the lanky boy with goggles, Jason or James, from the other day. Caught up in her thoughts, Lexa did not realize what was about to happen until it was too late. All of a sudden, inquisitive emerald eyes watch as the strange boy trips, effectively sending all of the liquid in the red cup flying. Saving herself, since she is wearing white after all, long legs jump back as beer splashes Costia. Drenched, the girl’s hair sticks to her face with droplets sliding down flushed cheeks, falling against a beer-soaked shirt. A hushed silence falls upon the bonfire as the music is lowered. Oh shit. Staring anxiously, a tense Lexa awaits the screaming fury of the cheerleader. Lips parted wide, hands frozen in the mid-air, eyelashes blinking rapidly, Costia is silent. Glancing down at goggles, a small, wicked smirk is present. Hm. Immediately, Lexa moves to help him up.  
However, what Lexa had failed to notice was a very suspicious looking Anya and Jasper whispering in the corner by themselves, minutes before scene. Evidently, the two masterminds devised a plan to separate the couple, which involved the sticky substance. After a nod by the goggle wearing boy as he briskly walked towards the two girls, a black boot belonging to Anya would shoot out, hook around his ankle, and the boy would fall. Specifically, as he fell, he’d thrust the cup forward with all his might. A premeditated trip.  
“Thanks,” he mutters softly, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes,  
Suddenly, Costia shrieks, squawking like a seagull. Holy hell. Slightly jumping, Jasper and Lexa look at one another then back at the fuming girl.  
“You, you, I can’t even find the right word to call you,” Costia screeches. “You are dead, so fucking dead. Do you hear me? From now on, I will make your life a living hell for the rest of the year. You pathetic, pathetic,” she pauses, loser.”  
And Lexa feels her blood boil, “Costia relax, it was an accident.”  
“Are you being serious right now? Look at me,” she gestures frantically, “I am drenched in cheap beer. This shirt costs more than anything he can possibly afford.”  
Lexa glares, “It’s a shirt. Get it dry-cleaned or buy another one, you will be fine. Jesus, there is no reason to flip out or cause a scene by throwing a temper tantrum.”  
Jasper interjects, “Yeh, I’m sorry, I can be a bit clumsy.”  
A few seconds pass before Costia lets out another shriek, “Ontari, let’s go.”  
Quietly, everyone watches the raging girl and her best friend who is attempting to dry her off with napkins and failing miserably. Sun-kissed hands swat the napkins away. Stomping along the sand, Lexa scrunches her eyebrows in confusion. All of a sudden, Costia stops to stand in front of Clarke and her friends. A fire erupts in the brunette’s chest as an overwhelming urge to protect sweeps through.  
“Can I help you?”  
Clarke, now standing, stares at a fuming Costia. Behind her, Raven and the black-haired girl stand ready to pounce. The cheerleader, throwing a glare full of daggers, leans closer. Whispering to the blonde, all can be seen is pale fists clench while a chin just out, an expression of defiance etches unto the blonde’s face. Observing intently, Lexa sees blue orbs flicker over to her then back. Hmm.  
Before storming off, Costia ends with, “stay away from what’s clearly mine. Don’t mess with me Griffin and keep your motley crew of welfare away.”  
In a dramatic turn events, Lexa can’t help but think it would have been a better idea to stay home. But, before she can finish her thought, a flash of blonde tresses takes off down the beach towards a collection of rocks. Clarke. And with that, the brunette doesn’t realize what is happening until the pile of stones in the distance grows nearer. Acting on pure instinct, sand kicks up as long legs take off after the distraught girl. Muscles stiffen, like two pillars of cement, fighting the difficult terrain. But, Lexa doesn’t care. Pain is weakness leaving her body. So she pushes to fight against the tightness. All Lexa care about is the fleeing girl who has invaded every crevice of her mind. Slowing down, panting, tan hands move to rest on knees as her lungs desperately gulp in air.  
The only sounds that can be heard are the crashing of waves and singing of cicadas. When Lexa glances up, a breath traps in her throat causing a soft gasp. As the bright glow of half-bitten moon illuminates her pale features, yellow hair gleams gold and Lexa cannot breathe. Beautiful. Clarke, knees pressed against her chest, sits on a rock and gazes out into the ocean. Wavy blonde locks shimmer in the light breeze, a distant look etched across her face. Suddenly, Lexa feels a trickle melancholy growing from within. A part of her urges her to jump up those stones, wrap the blonde up in her arms, and pull the warm body against her own. Comfort her until those cerulean eyes twinkle with playfulness once more. Still, the rational side, Heda, orders her to remain at a distance.  
Without exchanging words, expertly, Lexa climbs up a small rock. As if climbing stairs, Lexa hops over a narrow gap to land on a medium size one. As she finds her balance on one foot, the other leg remains bent midair, and arms straighten out to the side. Steady now. Checking to see the distance of the next rock, Lexa looks up to see the blonde watching closely with an eyebrow raised.  
“Wax on, wax off?” Clarke asks with a playful grin.  
Smiling, Lexa retorts, “Well, you know what they say.”  
Expectantly, the artist raises her eyebrows as she waits for the girl to finish.  
“Everybody was Kung Fu fighting.”  
As she lets out a “hiyah,” Lexa leaps off her one leg to land on the large stone the blonde is occupying. Scooting over, a light chuckle falls from Clarke’s lips at the silly antics. Lexa, sitting down, lets her legs dangle over the edge before shuffling closer. Mimicking the brunette, the blonde begins kicking her feet over the edge. As Clarke gets comfortable, her right hand drops down to the unoccupied space between their thighs. Oh. Biting her lip, Lexa follows suit except leaves a slither of space amongst their pinkies. Not wanting to upset the girl, the pinky remains millimeters away despite the strong pull to feel the girl’s skin against hers.  
Lexa, opens her mouth to say something, but closes it. Instead, a shy gaze admires the side profile of the blonde looking towards the ocean. A distant look is present again. Hair brushed to the opposite side, unknowingly, Clarke bares the pale tender flesh of the slim neck to the smitten brunette. Emerald eyes trace along the line of a pale jaw down to the curve of the soft-looking skin. Oh, how Lexa wishes to feel the warm skin beneath her fingertips, caress it with her lips, and grip it in the throes of passion. Swallowing thickly, the brunette battles the overwhelming desire to sink her teeth into supple flesh. Mind numb, Lexa, once again, blurts out.  
“Did you know sea turtles cry sometimes?”  
Clarke snorts, “What?”  
“Seriously! Sea turtles can cry. I mean, not from emotions like humans or anything. But, they are born with glands that assist them in emptying excess salt from their eyes. When they are ridding themselves from the salt, they cry.” Lexa explains with a sheepish expression, “I, uh, saw it on a documentary once.”  
Tilting her head to the side with a small grin, “did you really chase after me to tell me random facts about oceanic life?”  
Ducking her head, Lexa kicks her legs against the rock. A faint whisper of no drifts of in the wind. Such a fucking dork, she thinks. A poke to her side causes her to jolt up straight.  
“I’m only teasing.”  
A breathless Lexa after their eyes lock, “I know.”  
After a brief moment, Clarke replies shyly, “Tell me another one.”  
“A fact?”  
The blonde nods.  
“Let’s see, did you know killer whales are not actually whales?” Lexa explains, “They are actually classified as the largest member of the dolphin family. This also explains why they’re so intelligent as well. Frigging Shamu and Flipper are pretty much first cousins, three times removed!”  
A small giggle fills Lexa’s ears, “cute.”  
And the brunette, barely, swallows the cotton ball lodged in her throat. After brushing a strand of hair away, Clarke drops her hand back down. Unlike before, now, there is no space between their pinkies. The side of a pale pinky presses against a tan one. Momentarily, Lexa forgets how to breathe. Fully aware of the warmth, the steady beat of brunette’s heart skips. Both of them sit there in comfortable silence, watching the waves crash continuously. Do it. Lift your pinky. Biting the bottom plump lip, Lexa squeezes her eye shut as the pinky lifts slightly. Extending it to the left, it hovers above the pale one shakily. Do it. You are already half way there. Gently, the tan pinky finds its home on top of the Clarke’s. Phew.  
Much to Lexa’s surprise, Clarke shifts her other fingers away from the touching limbs. Placing the ball in the girl’s court, the blonde waits to see if Lexa makes another move. Nervously, the brunette keeps her head straight, but glances over at Clarke through peripherals. Do it. A slight twitch of the top pinky occurs. It takes a few more minutes of Lexa sweating before it curls around the pale one, locking them. Clarke glances down at her lap to hide her a growing smile. Awkwardly, Lexa breaks the silence.  
“So, are you okay?”  
A head nods, “More than okay.”  
Chirping of crickets fills the air.  
“Wanna talk about what happened before?”  
Clarke scoffs, “just Costia being her pleasant self. But,” she pauses, “I rather get to know you than talk about her.”  
A warmth spreads to the brunette’s cheeks after that admission.  
“Well, what do you want to know?” Lexa asks quietly, “I’m not that very interesting to be honest.”  
“I highly doubt that. Tell me anything. Favorite book, color, food, anything.”  
The brunette purses her lips, “hm, I like documentaries.”  
“You don’t say?” Clarke teases.  
Lexa sticks her tongue out causing the blonde to giggle.  
“Fine, fine. Currently, I am reading the Games of Thrones series. However, I could always go for classic such as Oscar Wilde. Jury is still out on favorite book. I used to like green. But, now it seems to my favorite color is blue,” brief pause. “Even though I enjoy eating healthy and exercising, I have a soft spot for pizza.”  
Clarke blurts, “I fucking love pizza.”  
A soft chuckle from the brunette, “such enthusiasm.”  
Blushing, the blonde glances away sheepishly as Lexa nudges her, “your turn.’  
“Well, to be honest, I rather paint than read. Once upon a time, I was obsessed with purple. But, lately, it seems I see a forest green everywhere. I also have reoccurring dreams where civilization is living up in space after a nuclear disaster. Eventually, I am sent down to earth where I always end up standing in front of this hidden figure.”  
“Who is it?”  
A shrug, “I have no idea. As soon as they reveal themselves, I wake up. It’s weird.”  
Silence, only the chirping of crickets and screeching of cicadas are heard. After few moments, the brunette finally asks.  
“What do you paint?”  
Lexa’s heart flutters as blue eyes light up at the mention of the medium.  
“Everything, I paint everything. I also have a strong connection with charcoals as well. I love sketching with them. It’s so organic,” the blonde rambles. “Art is the most freeing experience I have ever experienced. Like a best friend, it has always been there. When I was brokenhearted, sad, or smitten, I could always express true emotions without hesitation.” She stops briefly, “I’m rambling, sorry.”  
“No, no need to apologize. It’s actually refreshing to see someone so passionate about something. Nowadays, it seems originality and creativity have been stifled or disappeared.” Lexa bites her lip before continuing, “I would love to see some of your work sometime.”  
“Oh yeh?” Clarke teases, “And here I thought you were hitting on me the other day when you said you like art.”  
Emerald hues drift over to meet amused blues. Lexa lets out a content sigh, thinking about what to say. She simply responds, “If we are being honest, a little bit of both.”  
Silence, comfortable silence settles between them once more. Seemingly, both are lost in their own thoughts. Lightly, Lexa squeezes Clarke’s pinky.  
“Tell me more about you,” the brunette says gently.  
Clarke shrugs, “hm, during the summer months, I work down at Trikru Ice Cream and Things Parlor part time.”  
“And during school?”  
“Depends, sometimes I’ll take a shift or two on the weekends for extra cash. But, usually, my parents do not approve with me doing so. They don’t want me to be distracted.” Clarke bites her lip nervously, “although it seems I have a new distraction.”  
“Hm, and what could that be?” Lexa smiles smugly.  
Clarke flirts, “More like who could that be.”  
“Oh now we are getting to the good stuff. Tell me, what may this person look like?”  
“Well, she’s tall.”  
“It’s a she?” Lexa asks feigning shock.  
“Mhmm, she is also very, very gorgeous with the prettiest green eyes and such a charming smile.”  
The fluttering in Lexa’s stomach increases as her heart race pounds as if she was running a marathon. Clarke had leaned forward as she was describing the “distraction.” With their pinkies locked, both girls shift closer causing their shoulders to touch.  
“I see, she sounds like quite the looker,” Lexa mutters dazed.  
Emerald eyes flicker down to those pink lips to see a tongue poke out and swipe along the bottom lip. With inaudible moan, Lexa is barely restraining herself from lunging forward and capturing that bottom lip between her own.  
Clarke whispers softly, “she most definitely is. You see, on the outside, she is a cold, hard ass. But to me, hidden behind this façade, I see a beautiful girl who is a bit of a geek with a heart of gold.” The artist’s eyes flicker between emerald and plump lips, “Plus, like a superhero, chivalrously, she did help a damsel in distress twice. So how can I not find her distracting?”  
Lexa stares at the blonde’s lip while licking her own. She wants it. All she wants to do is lean forward to press up against those pink lips. God, a strong desire tumbles over her like a tidal wave to be the one biting Clarke’s bottom lip. Lexa wants to ravish every part of that supple, busty body; dig her hand into those luscious golden strands, cup the flushed cheek, and kiss the girl breathless. She aches to immerse herself into the sweet honeysuckle known as Clarke Griffin.  
Yet, at the same time, Heda holds her back from divulging in such sweet, sweet temptation. Because if she took this leap of faith, there is no turning back. Knowingly, Lexa concedes it would be unfair to rope the blonde into her chaotic life. She thinks about how they barely know each other. Clarke is blissfully unaware of the past or the guilt weighing heavily on broad shoulders every day. But, with the moon shining down, the soft breaking of waves, and quietly sitting upon these rocks, the mood is set. The twinkle of a thousand of stars seem to drive the brunette on. Undeniably, a romantic atmosphere swirls around like the graceful twirl of ballet dancer.  
A breathless, “Lexa.”   
A faint, “yeh?”  
Smirking slightly, Clarke’s eyes flicker between plump lips and emerald eyes once more. Oh. Lexa, half-lidded, finds herself following the same movements. A smirk turns into a full-fledged grin causing the corners of blue to crinkle slightly. A playful whisper from Clarke, “if you want me, you’re going to have to catch me.”  
Giggling, Clarke jumps down, skipping from rock to rock, and landing on the sand with a muted thud. Wait, what? Stunned, Lexa blinks and the artist is no longer near. Blinking rapidly, trying to comprehend what just happened, the brunette frowns. She is slightly disappointed at the lost moment. Meanwhile, spinning around to face the other girl, a toothy grinning Clarke takes one step back towards the water.  
“I mean, if you can catch me, Superman.”  
Oh. Shaking her head amused, Lexa looks away as a sly grin graces her features. Two can play this game. Hoping down a rock, Lexa slowly walks on top of the smooth, marble surface towards its edge. As if observing prey, the girl hops down to a lower rock and stalks over to the edge once more.  
Lexa pouts slightly, “Are you mocking my superhuman abilities, Lois? Because mockery is not a product of a strong mind.”  
Never breaking the gaze with the brunette, pale hands move to grab flip flops. Effortlessly, Lexa hops down to the last small rock, still smirking. Oh, thousands of wings flutter in the blonde’s stomach while waits for the brunette’s next move. Clarke feels giddy. She wants to run, no skip down the beach, throw her arms in the air and spin in pure joy.  
“Oh no, I would never, “she replies in a high pitch southern accent. Clarke places hand over her heart, “I am merely saying I am faster than you, even with your superhuman abilities.”  
Long legs stride over to the edge of the last stone. A tsk-tsk sound escapes her lips in feign disapproval. Clarke’s heart plays hopscotch beneath her breast.  
“Are you sure you want to go there?” Lexa quips still grinning, “Let’s not forget who the athlete is with long legs, Clarke.”  
As Lexa drops down to the sand, the blonde takes a step back. A game of cat and mouse once again. With a good two feet of space nestled between, they observe one another. With a light breeze passing through, soft grains of sand tickles toes, and their locked eyes seem to twinkle at one another. Keeping their heated, passionate gaze, Lexa kneels to remove her shoes and socks.  
Clarke shrugs, “I guess we are just going to have to find out.”  
Standing up straight, Lexa raises her eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”  
One step, another one, the brunette stalks her target. And with every step, Clarke continues to back up slowly. She does her very best to leave a two-foot space between them.  
“Maybe, Commander,” Clarke responds in a suggestive tone.  
A low, husky voice pierces the night, “challenge accepted.”  
Lexa surges forward at a shrieking Clarke, who narrowly dodges the grasp of long arms. Tips of nimble fingers barely graze the soft grey material of the sweater. Ducking under a swipe, the blonde pivots on the top of her feet. As she twists and turns, the sinking of the sand causes Lexa to lose balance. Stumbling, her body bends to in half as a long arm reaches out and catches herself. Legs slightly bent, one arm in the air, the other holding herself up, Lexa laughs loudly. Seizing the opportunity, laughter echoes as Clarke sprints towards the ocean. As she watches the blonde’s fleeting form, Lexa pushes off the arm and long legs sprint after the girl. From behind, the brunette watches the golden locks bounce, whipping in the wind every so often.  
“Going to have to be faster than that Commander.”  
As soft, grains of sand change to hard and spongy, the blonde reaches the edge of drifting water first. Unbeknownst to Clarke, the tide begins to trickle in. Tickling her toes, she releases a squeal again from the ice cold temperature. Stumbling back, caught off guard, Clarke falters. She makes every attempt to avoid the little ice daggers from jabbing at the pale flesh. Instead of running into the water, the blonde back pedals, heals dig into hard, spongy sand. Momentarily, she forgets about the trailing brunette. Without thinking, Clarke takes another step causing her back to collide with Lexa’s front. Immediately, slim arms engulf the blonde. Wrapping around her petite waist, the blonde is encased in the radiating warmth of the other girl. Nuzzling her nose in the golden tresses, Lexa pulls closer Clarke closer. Soft puff of pants hit the side of Clarke’s hair and tickles.  
“Gotcha.”  
Biting back a grin, the blonde’s body relaxes and leans into the embrace.  
“Nope. You cheated,” Clarke protests.  
A low chuckle fills her right ear, “how did I cheat?”  
“Well, let’s see,” the blonde leans her head against Lexa’s shoulder. Tilting back, cerulean eyes lock with emerald, “clearly, you conspired with the sea to throw me off my game.”   
Lexa’s lets out another low laugh. Cerulean eyes trace the other girl’s face. Wings flutter in deep within her belly as she watches the alluring plump lips part. Emerald eyes seem to be so light, so carefree as they gaze right back. Beautiful.  
The brunette’s husky voice fills her ears, “oh yes, most definitely. Besides being superhuman, I also have the ability to control bodies of water. You got me.”  
“I knew it,” the blonde replies smiling.  
As a few moments pass, they stand, wrapped in each other’s embrace and stare out into the sea. Watching the deep blue water curl into a wave and crash into frothy white. As a result, the incoming tide is only a few inches away. Lexa watches the arriving water crawl up the sand and slide back down. Smirking, Lexa sees how close the blonde’s toes are from the cold liquid.  
Leaning towards her ear, ‘Clarke?”  
“Hm?”  
“You should hold on tighter.”  
“Wh-“  
A scream interrupts Clarke’s sentence as Lexa lifts the girl from the waist. With ease, the brunette walks a couple more inches, but not releasing the hold just yet. Clarke wiggles within the embrace. Desperately, still grinning, the girl tries to twist to grab onto the athlete. A pale hand, like a vice grip, wraps around a strong, straining bicep. Holding the girl in the air, Clarke hovers above the water.  
“Lexa,” she warns.  
“Clarke.”  
And as the tide comes in, Lexa places the young girl down who squeals at the coldness. Warm flesh is submerged into cold water as the liquid gushes against her feet. With the rush of water pushing against their lower limbs, both girls can feel their heels sinking deep down into the soft, mushy sand. Laughing at the blonde’s noises, the brunette remains unfazed by the temperature. Spinning around, blue eyes narrow. Clarke begins to shuffle away, watering splashing slightly. The bottoms of her feet slapping against the wet sand.  
“You are going to get it now, Woods.”  
Quickly, Clarke bends while extending her arm into the cold water. Cupping her hand, she lets the liquid gather in the makeshift curve. Smirking, Clarke swings her pale forward, launching the water. Without enough time to react, the cold water slaps Lexa in the face and wetting her shirt. With a loud squeak, she winces slightly at the coldness. Lexa stares shocked with lips slightly parted.  
“Oh you are so dead.”  
Surging forward again, nimble fingers graze the sides of the blonde who dodges the attack. With a twirl, Clarke manages to hop out of the cold water onto the hard sand. Lexa, stumbling slightly, catches herself before face planting into the ocean. Heels kick up the cold water as she spins around and heads straight for the blonde. Bouncing from side to side, giggling, Clarke swiftly escapes the swiping and reaching grasps of the brunette. While chasing the blonde, Lexa manages to bend down and splash the unsuspecting girl causing Clarke to retaliate. Kicking up water, scooping it with their hands, Lexa and Clarke laugh as they frolic.  
“Lexa,” Clarke screams. Outstretched arms twitch as she uses her palms as a shield. A chill runs down her spine when the freezing waters hit her torso and face.  
Halting her movements, Lexa smirks, “I love it when you scream my name.”  
And with that, the blonde uses her feet to kick up water as Lexa splashes her right back. Without warning, Clarke begins running towards the direction of the bonfire. Watching the retreating girl, Lexa shakes her head. This girl. Quickly, she sprints to grab their shoes before following suit.  
“Get back here, Griffin.”  
The blonde spins around in the distance, “catch me if you can, Woods.”  
Narrowing her eyes at the fleeting form, with all her might, long legs pump as hard as they can against the hard sand. Heels digging in and kicking up muddy grains, Lexa grins at the soft caresses of wind hitting her face. She feels so light. Clarke makes her feel so light. It is foreign, such a strange feeling. Has it been so long that she has forgotten what laughter and enjoyment feels like? Pushing these random thoughts away, Lexa wills her legs to run faster and catch the blonde in arms once more.  
Off in the distance, for Clarke, the bonfire draws nearer. Loud obnoxious sounds of shouting break the stillness of the night. The amber glow of the fire grows in size. Upon approaching, Clarke feels her lungs burning as she pants. Switching to a comfortable jog, she scolds herself for not working out enough. Suddenly, Clarke is startled when a tan arm loops around her waist.  
Yanking the girl back, the blonde’s backside slams against Lexa’s front. Together, the couple stumbles back. Lexa pulls the other girl as close she can be. The warm heat radiating off Clarke’s body seeps into the brunette’s core. A shiver runs down Clarke’s spine as Lexa’s heavy breathing fills her right ear. Oh. A small gasp stumbles out from Clarke’s lips when the hand on her hip squeezes. Fire erupts in the blonde’s belly to shoot down between her legs. Pressed against her stomach, she feels the muscles of the arm tense at the movement. Lexa steadies them while the blonde turns her head to observe the playful, lustful glint in emerald eyes. There is a slight purse of the lips as the corners of the brunette’s lips quirk upwards. It’s a tiny, shy smile.  
“Gotcha.” Lexa adds teasing, “without controlling the sea this time mind you.”  
Licking her lips, the blonde swallows, “I let you win.”  
“Never going to let me have my moment are you?” Lexa asks chuckling slightly while tightening her hold on Clarke.  
“That’s too easy. You’re going to have to work harder, Commander. The thrill is in the chase,” A pale hand lifts to push a piece of chestnut hair behind her ear, which causes the tip of her pointer finger to gently slide down its curve.   
“And when you’re caught?”  
Lexa questions breathless, emerald eyes darkening. An air of playfulness disappears, leaving a thick, heavy, lust filled tension to arise. Ghostly, the knuckle of the blonde’s index finger traces the strong jawline. Feeling it clench slightly under the touch, Clarke eyes flicker towards emeralds.  
“Well, Lexa,” she whispers softly. “You’re just going to have to find out for yourself.”  
Plump lips, slightly, jut out to form a pout.  
“If you are up for the challenge that is.” Clarke teases, “you think you can handle it, Commander?”   
Lexa is combusting. Inside, every part of her brain is stopping. The erratic beating of her heart hammers against the ribcage. She hopes the closeness of their bodies does not allow Clarke to feel how she is effecting the girl. God, Lexa doesn’t even want to answer the question. No, plump lips want to connect with soft, pink ones. Actions speak louder than words. And at this very moment, Lexa overwhelming ache to show Clarke how much she is more than willing to handle this challenge, this game that has sparked between them. Because deep down, the brunette knows the blonde is feeling the same sensation, emotions coursing through her body. She wants to let go, take the plunge. But, Heda is there once again. Beating her irrational, impulsive behavior down with a swift kick. Head over heart, Lexa’s lips part to respond.  
However, it is stifled by a high pitch squealing followed by a loud pop. Another moment lost, the noisy offender slices through the tension with a machete. Jumping slightly, the tan arm tightens its hold, drawing the blonde in. Protectively, irritated emerald eyes snap forward to search for the source of the unfortunate interruption. Once again, as a high pitch whistle squeals into the night, a tiny light soars up like a rocket ship blasting off. When the flame reaches its peak elevation, with a loud pop, sparks of red, green, and purple explode into the dark sky.  
“FUCK YEAH!”  
A screaming Raven is throwing her arms up in the air as she watches the light show. In front of her, like a ticking time bomb, fireworks wait to be lit by the other. Around the fire, mainly, is Clarke’s friends and Lexa’s family. Spread out along the beach are a few groups of teens. With all eyes up at the sky, admiring the light show, emerald eyes flicker back to the girl in her arms. Clarke, as she gazes up, smiles widely. Pale features are painted with the reds of a lobster and greens of a lime. Lexa breathes this moment in. Stunning. As lungs expand wide, her head leans forward to press against the side of Clarke’s head. With another high pitch squeal, a loud pop paints the sky with illuminating, bright colors. As Lexa keeps her head forehead pressed against blonde locks, the scent of vanilla and coconut fills her nostrils. Eyes squeeze shut, Lexa holds on tight. Butterflies soar when a pale hand threads through the chestnut hair at the base of her neck. Oh. Fingertips lightly rub against the scalp as Clarke slightly turns her head towards Lexa. Briefly, blue eyes close as well before returning their gaze back to the sky.  
“I did it bitches. Pay the fuck up,” Raven screams over the pops.  
With the crackling of the fire, the soft plucking of guitar strings, and loud pops of fireworks, Lexa feels her heart ready to explode. Slightly moving her head, she places a soft kiss against the blonde’s temple. Turning her head towards the fireworks, she pressed the side of her face against the blonde’s. As the pale hand continues to work its way in her hair, Lexa presses another soft kiss to a blushing cheek.  
“Clarke,” she whispers gently.  
A soft hum, “hmm.”  
“You are so beautiful.”

Clarke bites her lip, trying to keep her attention on the fireworks. A faint thank you leaves her lips. And with that Lexa gazes up, she is smiling wide, really wide, like a Cheshire cat. Because her body feels floaty. Surprisingly, these sensations are quelling her usual anxiety and fears. Before meeting the artist, she would never be so bold, so lighthearted, so daring. No, it is almost an outer body experience. You live your life a certain way, something clicks, and everything changes. Before Clarke, a stoic face would be present. A toned back would be ridged, shoulders tensed. A glare, a scowl would grace stunning features frequently. Walls, as tall skyscrapers, would be enforced with soldiers, cannons, and a moat to keep out any visitors. And yet, here she is. In a matter of a few days, the twister named Clarke swirled and twirled. Barreling full force, Lexa never stood a chance. With a few glances and small conversation, the fury of Clarke has trampled, destroyed her protection. Leaving Lexa with her heart on her sleeve, hoping the blonde would cradle it gently and keep it forever.  
Despite this moment of happiness, of boldness, her insides quake in fear. Scared shitless, Lexa wills for heart over mind. Because, right now, her mind is pushing to run far away. Brewing in her core, deep beneath this strange calm is a tsunami. A flash flood of doubts, anxiety, and fear threatens to burst through the levy of her stoic reverie. Subconsciously, Lexa is full aware that Clarke can break, no shatter her completely. Love is not Lexa’s weakness, Clarke is. And here, her mind, Heda is telling her to prepare. It demands her to run, to rebuild walls, send for ammo, and dig a deeper moat. Yet, her body stands strong, beating in sync with her heart. This feeling is too good, too comforting to let go. It’s been so long that she has felt so alive. Lexa desires to bottle this feeling up and never let it go.  
So, for tonight, she will live in the moment. Not caring about the past or future, Lexa is in the present. She will be young, stupid, and reckless. Tightening her hold on the blonde as the fireworks erupt in the sky, tan, nimble fingers will grip tightly on this feeling. Hoping, praying, she will never feel it slip away.  
“HEY! LOVEBIRDS!”  
Sometime lost in her thoughts, Lexa returned to her previous position against the blonde. Eyes closed, forehead leans against the side of the golden haired head, Lexa almost purrs at the tips of the blonde’s fingertips rub at her scalp gently. Please don’t ever stop. Clarke’s head is slightly turned towards the brunette’s face, smiling. Lexa inhales, taking a deep breath and engraving the enticing scent of Clarke Griffin in her mind.  
“When you are done canoodling like fucking swans, come makes some s’mores,” Raven shouts.  
A chorus of voices pour into the air as they call after the two. Begrudgingly, Lexa emits a low whine in protest. She has half a mind to pick the blonde up, turn, and run back over to the stones. Due to their closeness, Lexa feels the vibrations of a chuckle from the blonde.  
“Come on, Superman. I’ll make ya a s’more.”  
With a light tug of the chestnut locks, Clarke begins to shift in toned arms. After another soft kiss to her temple, Lexa reluctantly opens her eyes and pulls away. Turning to face her, a pale hand resting at her elbow, slowly, slides down to interlock with the brunette’s hand. Cerulean eyes lock with emerald shyly, yet affectionate. Their gazes lingering before Clarke backpedals and tugs on the brunette’s arm, who follows reluctantly.  
“Well, well, well, and here we thought we had to send out a search party,” Raven teases.  
A pale hand lets go, immediately, Lexa feels a hint of disappointment from the loss of contact. No. Her body already missing the warmth of the girl’s hand that fits perfectly in hers. Clarke moves to sit on an unoccupied long sitting around the fire. Lexa, briefly, glances up to see various smirks, looks, and wiggling eyebrows.  
Tugging Lexa down, Clarke retorts. “shut up Raven.”  
“Alright, for all of you who don’t know who the sexy girl, who is way out of Clarke’s league, is Lexa, the Commander.” The mechanic winces as Clarke punches her in the arm.  
Goggles nods, “Jasper, from the other day.”  
Lexa gives him a small smile as Clarke shifted to grab some items from the mechanic. Slightly glaring at the mechanic, Clarke whispers her to shut up once more.  
“Monty,” the boy next to him respond, “it’s nice to meet you.”   
“You too,” she murmurs.  
The black-haired girl sitting next to Lincoln smiles warmly, “Octavia.”  
“You play softball, right?”  
Octavia nods excitedly, “yep.”  
After a few more quick introductions, Lexa relaxes. Finally, the attention is diverted away from the two girls once more. Staring into the fire, the brunette relishes at the warmth radiating from the Clarke’s body as she shivers slightly from a gust of wind. Lexa’s mind is starting to race with thoughts of future days.  
A quick poke, “want one?”  
Glancing over, Lexa lets out a quiet laugh as a stick with two jump marshmallows just out at her. She swats the baseball sized sugary goodness away. Leaning to the side, steals one from the plate and pops it in her mouth. Yum. Clarke, with a cheeky grin, lays her hand on the brunette’s thigh.  
“Hm, how about you let me have some of yours?” Lexa suggests.  
Huddled together, Clarke’s eyes flicker from the fire back to Lexa. Thankfully, the rest of the gang was talking amongst themselves. Mainly, they were fighting about whether to tell ghost stories or play a game. In their own little world, Clarke bumps her shoulder.  
“Sharing food huh?” the blonde teases, “I didn’t know we were at the stage. Next thing you know, two weeks from now, we will be u-hauling and adopting a kitten named Titus.”  
Lexa observes the girl as she extends her arm forward to roast the marshmallows. Biting her lip, the brunette leans her face towards. A scent of vanilla and coconut fills her senses. God, she wants to drown that scent. As Lexa presses her mouth against the cloth covered sweater to hide her smile, blonde hair whips to the side as Clarke glances over curiously. Gazing at one another, Lexa’s arm slithers around the girl’s waist. Placing her chin on the shoulder, a small smile plays at her lips. A few moment passes as both girls continue to stare at one another shyly.   
“Clarke.”  
Still staring closely, “mhmm.”  
“You should move the marshmallows before they melt off the stick.”  
Eyes wide, the blonde breaks her gaze to look at the fire. So cute. Lexa stifles a laugh as a frantic Clarke yanks her arm back. Pulling the stick out of the inferno, the tip of it sizzled as the fire continue to roast the marshmallows. Quickly, the blonde lets out a breath. Lips somewhat pursed, she blows upon the fireball. Now, the once white surface is blacker than a panther.  
After careful inspection, “still edible.”  
“Such high standards, “Lexa quips.  
Keeping her head upon the shoulder and her arm around the petite waist, Lexa watches the blonde place the balls of sugar on the plate. Clarke sticks her tongue out at the girl before grabbing chocolate and graham crackers. After a few moments of struggling, the blonde lifts it towards the brunette’s mouth, which the corners are quirked up in a smile.  
“Here,” she gestures trying to hide a smile.  
“You try it first.”  
An eye roll, “you are so difficult sometimes.”  
“Yep,” the brunette replies with a cheeky grin.  
After taking a bite, the blonde chews and swallows. Once, again, Clarke lifts the sugary goodness to the brunette’s mouth.  
“You’re going to feed it to me?” Lexa asks highly amused.  
Without a response, the blonde nudges the brunette’s upper lip with the melting marshmallow. Leaning forward slightly, Lexa tries not to blush as she opens her mouth to take a bite. Oh. Blue eyes flicker down to her lips then back up with a heated gaze. Licking her lips, Lexa chews with a shy smile playing at her lips.  
“Ladies and gentleman, if you would please turn your head to the right. In a rare sighting, you all can observe the courting rituals of the Commander and her Princess.”  
After swallowing, Lexa’s eyes flicker over at her cousin who is using a stick as a microphone. Bitch. She could see Lincoln laughing at his sister antics. Irritated, a tan hand raises to flip the girl off while Clarke continues to snicker.  
“Shut up, Anya.”  
Realizing everyone was watching the moment between the two girls, Lexa feels her face heat up once again. Ears burning, the warmth spreads to her cheeks.  
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Is the Commander BLUSHING?!” Raven shouts laughing.  
As Lexa huffs, she observes Anya’s eyes locking with the mechanic who smiles softly across the fire. Hmm. A pale hand touches her knee. Emerald eyes meet blue ones while Lexa feels the thumb gently glide back and forth soothingly. Clarke breaks the stare first to answer a question thrown at her by Jasper. Inwardly, Lexa is beaming as the caressing hand remains on in the same position. Leaning forward again, the brunette keeps her arm around the girl’s waist and presses her cheek Clarke’s shoulder. Glancing back over to the gang, who are now telling ghost stories, she feels good. Especially, when her heart starts to race when the pressure of two lips kiss the top of her head.  
When Lexa returns home, she is slightly upset. An hour after the s’mores moment, the trio decided to call it a night. Clarke, along with her crew, planned on staying longer to relax. Lexa gave the group a quick goodbye as her cousins decided to linger a little longer, giving the two girls a moment alone. Immediately, as the brunette pulled away from the cozy embrace to leave, Clarke walked her back to the car. Remaining quiet on the stroll back, Lexa felt her heart beat faster with every step. Breathe. Namaste. She was nervous. Leaning against the car, Clarke stood in front of her shyly, twisting her fingers as Lexa bit her lip. Immediately, the blonde invaded the girl’s space and wrapped her arms around the brunette’s neck. Quickly, tans arms moved to lock around her waist and pulled her into a hug. Please don’t let me go. Burying her face in golden locks, she smiled as Clarke placed a kiss on her neck as they broke the embrace. With soft whisper of goodnight, Lexa watched the blonde’s retreating figure with a grin. Unfortunately, not realizing sooner, the brunette forgotten to ask Clarke for her number. In the car, halfway home, Lexa spent the next twenty minutes making every attempt to tune out Anya, who teased her relentlessly.  
Kicking off her shoes, Lexa goes to check on Aden. Opening the door enough to peer in, she discovers the bed unoccupied. Shit. Tensing immediately, long legs rush towards her room. As she steps inside, emerald eyes spot a lump under the black quilt. Letting out a sigh of relief, a worried gaze scans the boy’s face. Curled in a ball with his back pressed against the wall, Aden clutches the older girl’s pillow. With a sad sigh, the older girl takes a shower then settles into the small unoccupied space. Watching her brother sleep, another sigh escapes her lips. Like a moving train, reality hits her full force. Living in the moment has past and a part of her aches to pretend once more.  
So, as she waits to enter the threshold of slumber, Lexa replays the moment of fireworks. A warm, exciting feeling swirls in her chest when she remembers the way holding the blonde so close felt.  
Finally, breathing evens out, limbs slack, and Lexa’s mind fills with the images of a Commander and her Princess. 


End file.
